When Sparks Fly
by blackwolf412
Summary: Okay. I didn't ask to be genetically altered while I was in the womb. I didn't ask to be brutally attacked in some Chicago alley. I didn't ask to run into six other mutants. But it all happened anyway. So here goes.
1. Chapter 1

Okay.

For your information,

I didn't ask to be genetically altered while in the womb.

I didn't ask for my entire genetic recipe to include "bird" as an ingredient.

I didn't ask to be stolen from my birth-parents and then tortured by evil scientists.

I _did _ask to escape. . .

. . .but I didn't ask to be in foster care when I wanted to be free.

I didn't ask to be repeatedly returned to my social worker like an unwanted gift at Christmas.

I didn't ask to be adopted.

I didn't ask to be brutally attacked in some Chicago alley.

I didn't ask to be badly wounded and then hurriedly stitched up by my dad.

I didn't ask to be forced to fly home without my family.

_I didn't ask to run into six other mutants. _

But it all happened anyway.

So here goes.

_**the boring back-story crap**_

Flap, _ow_. . .flap, _ow_. . .flap, _ow_. . .

I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut. The wind wasn't bothering me; I was wearing my dad's sunglasses, which I'd found in his jacket.

What _was _bothering me was the _unbelievable pain _in my right wing. (The heavy, makeshift sack I was carrying wasn't helping anything, either.)

Hi, my name's Nicole Ackerly and I'm a flying mutant bird kid! You know the story: the two-percent bird DNA, the stealing from the parents, the plots to take over the world. That old chestnut.

I flapped my fifteen-foot wings again and felt the rough stitches rip open.

"Friiiiii-_iick_!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!"

Oh, come on. Like you _never _talk to yourself?

I kept cursing under my breath as I began to circle somewhere over the forest I'd been flying over. This sucked! I wasn't gonna make it home in one run, I wouldn't be able to find out if Dad was okay, and I'd have to re-stitch myself. . .which wasn't gonna be pretty, given that _I didn't know a frickin' thing about stitches or knife wounds!_

Let me backtrack a bit, explain the whole situation.

Up till I was five years old, I'd been shipped to different U.S. branches of Itex like a foster kid so scientists could study me, experiment on me, and/or torture me. When I'd been created, my special power had been found out right away--atom control. This had led up to molecule control, ion control, telekinesis, and even lightning strikes. (Lightning is caused by atmospheric discharge, usually when hyped-up ions are concentrated at certain spots on the earth and in the sky. We realized this could happen if I got upset, which led to the torturing.) On my last trip, which was supposed to go to New York, our armored car had broken down and, without the distractions of the engine noise and the stupid whitecoats, I'd been able to get out of my cage and out the back of the truck. After a sprint down a hard, rocky road, I remembered I had wings and flew off into the bright light that was Chicago, Illinois.

Once in Chicago, I'd been snatched up right away by a nun and given over to the police and Social Services.

My name? Before that, I'd been Subject Thirteen, so no. They'd given me some stupid crap name, Jane Austin, instead. (But like I said, I go by Nicole Ackerly now--I'll explain in a sec.)

Reason for foster care? I'd been five years old and stupid, so after that helpful nun, Sister Katherine, picked me up off the street and brought me to her shelter, I'd told her all about the men who'd hurt me. She gave me over to the police, who came up with a kidnapped-at-birth story that became an unsafe, abusive environment that I'd run away from. (I hadn't been stupid enough to spill about the wings--only the doctor who'd examined me knew about them, and as far as I knew, she hadn't told anybody else.)

First foster family? A house in Michigan with a million other kids and a mom who couldn't handle another--which I kinda had a hand in with my disruptive, violent tendencies. _Disruptive _as in I didn't take any crap from anybody who picked on me and _violent _as in I kicked her beloved fifteen-year-old's ass when he tried to mess with me.

Second foster family? In NYC, a pretty nice couple with one other adopted son. I was there a while until a guy in a black suit, sunglasses, and an earpiece had tried to kidnap me. My foster dad, Kyle, had immediately picked me up and tried to run, but then the guy shot him in the back. Women had screamed, children had cried, somebody dialed 911 and the shooter had high-tailed it outta there. Foster Mom Sarah and Foster Brother Trevor were devastated and Sarah had sent me back, claiming I was the reason for her husband's murder. (Which, I guess, I kinda was.)

You get the picture.

The shenanigens went on through four more families in one year, and then I hit Lucky Number Seven back in Chicago: the Ackerly family. Phil, Marie, Kendra, and Jeremy.

Kendra and Jeremy were normal, as in 100% human and 100% Phil and Marie's kids. Kendra was two years older and Jeremy was three-and-a-half years younger. (Three years, six months, and ten days, but who's counting?) The story with me was that they'd _had _a little girl, who was just about my age, that had gone missing right after birth. They'd always hoped they'd find her someday, and Marie, who was into fate and spirits and stuff, said she had a "really good feeling" about me. After a year or so, they fully adopted me and gave me the name of their lost daughter: Nicole Stephanie Ackerly.

Now, I ain't one who believes in fate and destiny an' all that crap, but Marie's feelin' did seem mighty true as the years went by.

First of all, people would always tell me I looked exactly like my parents.

Second, people would tell me that, if my brother were older or I were younger, we could be twins. Same dirty-blond hair, same golden-brown eyes, same adorable smile. Thirdly, I had no problem calling my parents "Mom" and "Dad."

And last of all, they'd been completely, utterly, no-strings-attatched accepting of my wings.

Too good to be true, right?

Exactly.

Every summer, we still made the two-day car trip back to Chicago, the third-largest city in the U.S. and the city of my sweetest memory. Most recently, in this fabulous summer of 2008, we'd gone to visit our old house. Dad talked to the couple who lived there and they let us all walk around a bit. Jeremy didn't remember most of it, and I only had scattered memories, but man was it cool. Kendra and I used to share a room in the attic, so we went up there--and I bumped my head on the ceiling. She'd laughed, I'd made some sarcastic comment, and it had all been good.

Then we went outside.

Mom, Kendra, and Jeremy all wanted to go back to Grandma's, but Dad had wanted to go around to the back alley to look in the backyard. I said I'd walk with Dad and we'd meet the others at Dominick's (which was the local Chicago version of King Soopers--which was the Colorado version of City Market. . .and if you don't recognize any of these names, it's just the neighborhood grocery store, okay?).

Anyway, Dad and I had gone around back--by now it was starting to get dark--and some homeless psycho had jumped us and come at us with a knife.

Dad, paranoid city kid he was, had made sure Kendra, Jeremy, and I all knew how to fight, so, apart from being a little freaked, I wasn't particularly worried. Dad pushed me back against the wooden fence and decked the guy, sending him to the ground. He told me to run, and I did--and that's when two other guys popped up and tried to grab me.

I freaked out and shrieked like the girly-girl I had never been. I struggled and kicked and got one of the guy in the particulars. (There went _his _chance of ever having kids!) Then the other guy punched me and I spun into the fence.

Which reminds me: I have splinters in my cheek.

Off topic. Sorry.

After I slammed against the fence, Dad came running and body-slammed the guy who'd hit me. He told me to fly.

I got out of the way and took off my jacket. I unfolded my wings--which are an unusual combination of brown feathers with white spots and white feathers with brown spots--and hesitated, which was stupid, because _another _guy came up behind me. There was a weird flash, almost like a camera going off, and then steel was slicing through my wing.

Again, the girly-girl I'd never been made me scream (more in shock than pain--that came later) and fall to the ground. Dad knocked out his guy (the one who'd first punched me--Knife Guy Number One and Never-Gonna-Have-Kids Guy were still down and out) and came to tackle Knife Guy Number Two, who went unconscious as soon as his head cracked against a rock.

Dad helped me up and told me to fold my wings. I got one in, but the other one, the hurt one, couldn't move without sending a tidal wave of pain. My dad escorted me to the end of the alley. Just outside the glow of the street, Dad had me face the wall and yell into my sleeve as he stitched me up--the guy had sliced it deep--as best he could (he's a nurse, but he couldn't do much with a frickin' sewing kit he'd found in an inside pocket).

I know it's a long background story, but bear with me. I'm almost up to the present.

Then I'd put my jacket on over my shoulders to hide my wings. . .which didn't help too much, given that the one couldn't go in all the way. We'd gone straight to Dominick's, keeping to the main sidewalks yet out of sight.

Dad unlocked the car and had me get inside. Then he went into the store to find Mom, Kendra, Jeremy, and some really powerful painkillers.

Suddenly the front windshield cracked and smashed--someone had thrown a rock. We didn't have an alarm, but I still yelled in surprise. Which was stupid, because it gave me away instantly.

Dark figures came running from all directions, so I got out and ran into the brightly-lit, way-too-public grocery store.

I went straight for the deli, where the family had said they'd be waiting. Nobody was there. My sister called my name and I whirled to see her looking at the makeup stuff, smiling and clearly oblivious to what had happened. I ran right past Kendra--knocking her into the lip liner rack in the process--and towards the over-the-counter medication, where I hoped my parents would be.

I found them and started babbling about the car in the parking lot when other shoppers began to scream. The people who'd attacked us were in the store, looking for us. Looking for me.

Mom gasped, went pale and grabbed onto Dad for support. He shed his jacket and gave it to me. Then he filled it with rubbing alcohol, gauze, medical tape, and about twelve boxes of Moltrin (one of which he ripped open and gave to me for the pain). He zipped up the jacket, tied it up so nothing could fall out, and pushed me towards an emergency exit.

_Fly home_.

That's told me over the clanging of the alarm and the chaos of voices in the store.

_Fly home and don't stop._

That's what he said as I began to run for the empty lot behind the store.

_Just get home and we'll follow._

That's what he yelled as I spread my wings and leaped into the sky.

By "home" he meant the house in Colorado. By wing, it'd take me a day if I didn't stop. If I stopped to sleep, it'd take two days, like the car. Already tired out and having a hurt wing? Three days, maybe. I mean, I healed freakishly fast, but I couldn't keep the wound open to the elements.

I dived into the top of the foliage, wincing as branches and twigs grabbed at my clothes and hair. I dropped out feet-first at the foot of a huge oak tree, the shock waves of impact causing my knees to buckle. I fell to my knees and dropped my bundle of stolen goods before falling face-first into the dirt.

For a second, I just laid there, eyes closed, wings open, and dull pain pulsing through my body. I could've just curled up and gone to sleep right there.

But no--I had to fix my wing, which would be difficult considering all I had was a tiny needle, a button, six inches of black thread, and stolen Kroger-brand medical goods.

I sighed and wearily pushed myself up.

I'm roughly six hundred miles from Chicago. I've got a full sack of meds, half a fifteen-foot wingspan, it's dark, and I'm wearing sunglasses.

Hit it!


	2. Chapter 2

_**2. i'm so screwed. . .**_

"Ow! Dammit!" I cursed as my wing hit another tree, sending starbursts of pain rocketing through my back.

Hey, it's me again. Only now I'm ten times as pissed off!

As you remember, I'm hurt and on the run (also, it was dark, and until about thirty seconds ago I'd been wearing sunglasses). Now, to add to my personal dilemma, I'm overtired, I've been stumbling through the dark forest in search of shelter for three hours now, and, uh, hm. . .oh, yeah: _it's raining_!

Not much water was getting through the branches, but if I walked under them and got too close, my flippin' wing hit something and I cursed. So I was forced to walk in full downpour. I was freezing, drained, and just plain mad at everything.

_Frickity frick frick frick! _I screamed in my head. (Only I wasn't sayin' _frick_.) I stopped wandering and spun a full circle, trying to decide on a new direction. My raptor vision picked out a multitude of areas--a cluster of trees a little to the south, a rock formation up west, a stream to the nor--

_Light._

I turned back and faced west, which was where my destination was. I focused again on the rock formation situated a little more to the north and distinctly picked out a warm, flickering glow coming from somewhere near the bottom of it, from the mouth of a cave.

Which meant a few different things.

One: shelter was close. A mile, maybe. Not even. I could get out of the rain.

Two: if shelter was close, then people were fiery glow definitely gave off a human-presence vibe.

Three: if people were close, help was a possiblilty, and man did I need help.

Four: I'd been hooked since one.

I began to walk again, this time keeping my eyes focused on the little pocket of light. It took me about half an hour to get there, and when I did, I felt lost. I hesitated around the side of the mouth of the cave, leaning against the rock. I could hear, like, a million voices (as in about six, seven tops) but couldn't make out words over the sound of the rain.

What if they were campers, or hikers or something? What would I say? How would I explain myself? _Oh, hello there! My name's Nicole Ackerly. I'm a fifteen-year-old mutant bird-kid with an injured wing. Could ya help me out? I'd appreciate it!_

Yea-no.

And what if it was a trap? Like, what if those guys who'd attacked Dad and me had anticipated my escape to my Coloradan home and were waiting for me?

Sudden laughter interrupted my thoughts and I jumped so bad, jarring my wing and dropping my dad's jacket. It fell to the ground with a big noise: that of eleven bottles of Moltrin knocking together, the pills inside rattling way too loudly.

Even the rain seemed to fall silent as I froze, blood running under my fingers and heart pounding.

"Stay here," a girl's voice ordered quietly.

I closed my eyes and breathed. They were kids. Probably a bunch of friends on a camping trip.

Even so, I was utterly screwed. In fact, I was so far past screwed that if screwed were the sun, I was something beyond Pluto. I sucked at human contact.

Either way, I bent down and grabbed the knot at the top of the bundle, wincing at the obvious rattle of pills. I straightened up, took all the expression off my face, and, keeping pressure on my bleeding wing, walked purposefully towards the mouth of the cave.

And, like an idiot, ran smack into the kid rounding the corner.

"Ow! Frick!" I cursed as I reeled back, unbalanced. My half-cocked wing automatically stretched out for balance and I swallowed a cry of pain. I dropped my jacket again and had to lean against the side of the rock so I wouldn't pass out from the sudden stabbing of pain.

_Dammit dammit dammit!_

"Uh. . .are you okay?"

I glanced back up and saw two kids--a boy with black hair and dark clothes, and a girl with blond hair and lighter clothes, both around my age.

_No, I'm perfectly fine, thanks. It's just a scratch. It's just a minor flesh wound!_

Yeah, that's me. Sarcastic to the point of downright jerkiness. What're ya gonna do?

"N-no," I stuttered. My breath hissed as I stretched out my wing for them to see better. "I kinda need help."

The girl and boy exchanged questioning glances.

"Look, I can explain later," I said quickly. "But my stitches opened and I _really _need somebody to fix them 'cuz I already tried and I can't do it. Please?"

Still eyeing me warily, the girl said, "Yeah. . .come on."

I offered a weak half-smile and bent to pick up my meds. Then I followed the kids into the cave.

Inside, I didn't find what I'd expected.

My expectations? I dunno, maybe a couple other teenagers, a few parents, sleeping bags, maybe a tent. . .

What I found?

One other teenager, a twelve-year-old, an eight-year-old, a six-year-old, and a black Scotty with weird little growths on his back. I couldn't tell exactly what they were and frankly didn't want to find out. But other than that, nothing. Well, each kid had a little backpack near them, but there were no other signs that they were campers.

"Are you guys alone?" I asked, unconsciously slowing my steps.

"Yep," the blond girl said shortly. The boy in black went to sit in between the other teenager (a tall, pale boy with cloudy blue eyes (blind, maybe?)) and the twelve-year-old (a pretty black girl with supercurly hair). He leaned forward and began to talk quietly to the others--even the dog, in the youngest girl's lap, seemed to pay attention. Then the other girl caught my attention again.

"Let me see your wing," she said, beckoning for me to sit near her by the fire. Well, ordered, more like, but whatever. I went down on my knees and turned my back to show her.

"Um, I was jumped in an alley in Chicago," I explained, wondering how much I should say. "One of the guys got me with a knife."

"Why'd they attack you?" an unfamiliar voice asked. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw the littlest boy, the eight-year-old, was the only one meeting my eyes. He had blond hair and the bluest eyes.

"I don't really know," I answered truthfully. "I was just. . .ow!" I broke off in a yelp as the girl touching my wing poked me a little too hard. "Frick!"

"How long ago did it happen?" the girl asked.

"I don't know. Few hours, maybe?" I reached down and untied my dad's balled-up jacket. I picked up a bottle of rubbing alcohol, some gauze, a roll of medical tape, and found the sewing kit. I reached over my wing to pass them to the girl. "Here. I've been flying for a while, then I was wandering around in the forest. Disinfect, stitch, tape on the gauze."

"I can't stitch!" she protested.

"You'll have to!" I snapped back. I took a breath and added, more calmly, "It's too deep to stay the way it is. Just try the best you can. And be careful--that's only six inches of cheap thread."

"So no pressure," the boy with light blue eyes said sarcastically. I felt my mouth twist in a wry smile.

"None at all. Ahh!" I gasped and flinched as I felt the sting of the disinfectant. "Friiii_-iiiick_! Ow!"

"Sorry," the girl mumbled.

"Why do you keep saying 'frick'?" the black girl asked suddenly. I didn't get a chance to answer before words started spewing out of her mouth faster than a sprinting cheetah. "Is it a swearword? Because it sorta sounds like the f-word, but different. What's your name? How old are you? I'm twelve, I think. I might be thirteen soon, or at least I thi--"

"Nudge," the girl tending to my wing said, interrupting the chatter. "I need to concentrate now."

"Aw, geez," I muttered. With an effort, I folded my wing fully in. Then I brought my arm up to my face and buried my mouth and nose into my sleeve to muffle my cries of pain.

If you ever need stitches, make sure a doctor does it at a good hospital with a real needle and a whole lotta anethesia. If you have none of these things, it sucks big time. You can feel it every time the needle pierces your skin and you can feel the thread sliding through the muscle, going in the other side and coming back out to pull the open ends together.

I momentarily freed my mouth and said, "Get the muscle or you won't do it right."

"I know," she said absently. I buried my face again and couldn't help but worry anyway.

"I'm Max, by the way."

"Oh," I said, the word muffled in my sleeve.

"I'm Angel," the youngest girl offered when I remained silent. I looked at her and saw the resemblance to the youngest boy immediately--they were obviously related, probably brother and sister.

"Hi."

Angel smiled at me. "That's my brother, the Gasman, and that's Nudge, and that's Fang, and that's Iggy," she said, pointing to the youngest boy, the black girl, the black-haired boy and the light-eyed boy in turn. "And this is Total," she added, holding up her small black dog.

_They don't have real names,_ I thought. _Which means they're screwing with me or they're orphans or something. . .guess I should make up a name too._

"I'm. . .Spark," I lied. "Call me Spark."

Why Spark? Well, first thing I thought of was 'Sparky,' but that didn't seem to fit me, so I shortened it, which was way cooler. Secondly, it kinda worked with my personality because I could control atom movement, which, in some cases, produced electrical discharge. So there!

"I don't like it," another voice said bluntly. I jumped and got a stab with the needle from Max--that voice was obviously an adult's voice, and there weren't any adults in the cave. Were there? "Can I call you Sparky instead?"

That time I saw the dog's mouth moving. I felt my eyes go wide. I mean, seriously! A _talking dog_?!? How weird could you get?!?

I blinked, realizing the dog--Total, Angel had called him?--was waiting for an answer. I tried a smile.

"Can I call you Totally?"

The younger kids laughed and I flinched again as Max poked the needle through my wing for the last time.

"Finished," she said, tying off the loose end of the thread.

"Clean it again," I said. "Just in case."

I felt the sting of rubbing alcohol as she obliged. Then, almost immediately, she taped a stretch of gauze over the stitches and handed off the extra medical tape to me.

"Thanks," I said, already feeling better knowing that I had properly tended to my knife-wound. Dad would be proud.

I felt my eyes sting and my throat tighten as I thought about Dad and the rest of the family. I hoped they were okay. Mom was probably terrified for me. I fumbled in my sweatshirt pocket and pulled out the open bottle of Moltrin. I downed three of them dry.

"So. . .Spark?" Max said. I looked at her, suddenly realizing she looked like my brother and sister. She had Jeremy's eyes, but more of Kendra's hair and facial structure. I blinked and the likenesses seemed to fade.

"Max?" I replied.

She hesitated, then said, "You should know something."

I tensed up instantly. "And what might that be?" I asked warily.

Max glanced at Fang, who nodded the tiniest bit. She looked back at me and took a deep breath. Then she took off her own sweatshirt and. . .

_Max had wings._


	3. Chapter 3

hiya, peeps. it took a while for me to figure out how to do this part, and i kinda forgot to do it as well.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

so yeah. chapter three!

* * *

**_3. flying mutant bird-kids!_**

"Really? You had wings this whole time and didn't tell me?" I said, taking on a Shawn Spencer whine.

"Who's Shawn?" Angel asked innocently. I stared at her and she giggled. "I can read minds. Who's Shawn?"

I blinked. "Uh, he's a guy from TV. A show called _Psych_." (Greatest show ever, by the way! Along with _Monk, House, _and _Law and Order: SVU_. . .heck, any show aired on the USA network rocks!) I hesitated, then asked, "How can you read minds?"

"It's my skill," she said simply. She wiggled her shoulders and white wings unfolded from her back. White wings on a girl named Angel--how perfect was that? "I have wings too."

"Oh, me too!" Nudge exclaimed, revealing tawny wings that matched her eyes.

"We all have them," Fang said quietly.

"So. . .did the same stuff that happened to me happen to you?" I asked.

"That depends on what happened to you," Max said. "If we're going to be exchanging life stories, then we should at least tell the truth. Agreed?"

"Yeah, whatever," I said. "You first?" I offered.

"Fine," she said. "We grew up in the School in California. Four years ago, Jeb got us out and we lived in Colorado until Angel got kidnapped about a year ago. We've been on the run ever since."

"Wow," I said. "Nothing like my story. Who's Jeb?"

"Uh, Jeb Batchelder," Max said. "He's my. . .dad."

"Like, real dad?"

"Yeah. We thought he died, but then it turned out he didn't. He was working for Itex the whole time," she finished bitterly.

"So to sum up," I said, "you hate his freaking guts. Cool."

Max looked at me questioningly, but I overlooked it. I wrung my hands, scratching at my knuckles out of habit.

"Well, my story starts way different," I began. "My earliest memory was when I was about two years old in Chicago, and every six months after that I was shipped to different branches around the country. On our way to New York when I was about five, the armored car broke down and I was able to get away. I flew back to Chicago, which was nearest, and I was picked up by a nun and put in foster-care. A year after that I was adopted, and. . ."

"Wait, wait, wait," Max interrupted sharply. "You were adopted?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. We stayed in Chicago a while, then, like you, moved to Colorado, where we've been for about nine years. Recently we came back to Chicago to visit family and while we were passing the old house, my dad and I were attacked. I was hurt, but I got away, and you know the rest."

"Huh," Total said, sitting back in Angel's lap. "That's way different."

"Nobody found you?" Max asked. "For ten whole years?"

"Nope. I'm lucky, I guess."

"You mean you were never attacked by Erasers or Flyboys?" Fang asked disbelievingly. I closed my eyes so I wouldn't laugh.

"I can honestly say I've never been attacked by the little pink things on the ends of pencils."

Iggy, Nudge, the Gasman, and Angel all laughed, but Total really cracked up.

"Oh, that's too good!" he chuckled, tears of laughter running through his fur. "Oh, Lord!"

"Erasers are the human-wolf hybrids," Max explained, not amused. "Flyboys are the robot upgrades."

"Ohhhh. Now I feel a little like an idiot."

Angel and Nudge giggled.

"But no," I said, smiling a little. "Not since I escaped."

Angel suddenly yawned and Max looked at her.

"It's late. We should probably get some sleep."

"Okay, Max," Angel said.

"Yeah, I'm beat," the Gasman said.

"Are you gonna stay here?" Nudge asked me. "I mean, your wing's hurt and everything. You probably can't fly, can you?"

"Uh, I guess not," I said carefully. "I'll stay here if you'll let me."

"You can stay," Max said.

"Thank you ever so much," I said tiredly, rubbing my eyes. "I'll always cherish the memory of your hospitality."

Iggy snorted and even Fang--who hadn't shown any emotion whatsoever so far--grinned momentarily. Max rolled her eyes and held out her left fist. The rest of the bird-kids circled around and stacked up their fists before tapping the backs of each other's hands. I watched with curiosity as they completed their little ritual before scooting off to their own little areas of the cave. Max stayed by the fire and started to put it out. I moved back against the wall of the cave and slid down until I was lying on the ground. I waited, then sat up again and twisted my torso around to crack my back.

"Geez, was that your knuckles?" Iggy asked, sounding a little grossed out. I turned and saw him against the wall a few feet to my right.

"Actually, it was my back," I said, smirking. "Why? Does it creep you out?"

"It sounds so _weird_!" he said, shuddering.

I hesitated, then asked, "Hey, what was that thing you guys did? With the fist-stacking and the tapping?"

Iggy shrugged and closed his eyes. "It's nothing. Just something we do every night."

"Oh." I paused. "Uh. . .are you blind?" I asked a little uncomfortably. "I mean, seriously, can't-see-a-thing blind?"

He stiffened, but said, "Yeah. Why?"

"Oh, it's nothing, no reason. Your eyes were cloudy. I just wondered."

"When I was four, they tried to enhance my night vision," he said bitterly. "But they screwed up and now I can't see."

"Sorry, man," I said. "They've done some horrible stuff to me too."

Iggy turned his head toward me. "Did they make you go blind?"

"Uh, no, but I have my nightmares. A few nights ago, I woke up screaming in my grandmother's house. I'd been dreaming about the time I was supposed to go to Montana. I didn't want to go and the guy got so mad that he slammed me into the side of the armored car. Broke nearly all the bones in my left wing."

"Sorry. I didn't know."

"I almost gave my step-grandfather a heart attack. I could've killed him."

"Sorry," Iggy said again. He fell silent, and soon enough, he was asleep. I followed not soon after.

But, a few hours later, I woke up to hushed whispers.

"How can you be so sure she's not lying to us?" Fang was saying quietly.

"You think she made the whole thing up?" Max accused. "Nobody's that creative."

"Maybe she's an agent of Itex and they gave her a story," Fang said.

"But how'd they find us? I don't have the chip anymore! Besides, I thought about it earlier and Angel shut it down, told me she wasn't lying."

"Angel's just a little kid," Fang pointed out. "She might've missed something."

_Fang doesn't trust me, _I thought, _but Angel does. Interesting._

"I think you're a little paranoid," Max said, but she sounded doubtful. "We'll ask more questions in the morning."

"Why wait?" I asked loud enough for them to hear. I turned over and propped myself up on my elbows. I put my chin in my hands and looked at Max and Fang by the dying embers of the fire. "I'm awake, you're awake. Ask away."

Max looked at Angel, Nudge, and the Gasman, who were curled up near each other on the other side of the cave. She stood up and motioned for me and Fang to follow.

We went outside and around the side of the rock formation. Max halted under a small ledge about thirty feet off the ground. She backed up and took a flying leap up. Fang followed.

I waited until they looked back down at me and waved my arms uselessly. "Hello!" I whispered as loud as I could. "Crippled wing here!"

"You flew six hundred miles from Chicago," Max called. "You can handle this, right?"

"Fine!" I backed up and opened my wings with an effort. I took a running leap up to the ledge and barely made it. I crawled up over the edge and dug some pills out of my pocket. Don't worry, I wasn't overdosing: my dad guessed my higher metabolism could burn through more pain-pills way faster than the average person, so I was safe. "But when I'm crippled for life, I'm blaming you!" I rubbed my shoulder and took a deep breath. "Now. Ask me whatever you want. I'll try not to get too annoyed with your paranoid suspicion."

"How can we be sure you're telling the truth?" Max blurted. "I mean, we've never met anybody else like us before. It's a little weird, even for us."

"Okay," I said, sighing. "I guess you can't be absolutely sure I'm telling the truth. You'll have to trust me."

"Yeah, we're gonna need a better answer than that," Fang sneered. "We're not so good with the trust thing."

"First of all, _jerkwing_, you don't need to use that tone with me," I said. Max giggled and Fang pulled a face. "Second of all, I can prove it." I dug in my pocket and pulled out my house keys. There was a little picture of my family on the keychain. I chucked the keys at Fang a little harder than necessary. He gave me a wary look before studying my keychain along with Max.

"My father, Phillip James Ackerly, Director of Nursing in the cardiac wing of St. Joseph's Hospital in Denver. My mother, Marie Karen Ackerly, manager at the Copper Falls Spa in Castle Rock. My sister, Kendra Juliet Ackerly, who I call Kenny. My brother, Jeremy Jonathan Ackerly, who is exactly three years, six months, and ten days younger than me. Our German shepherd TJ, which stands for Totally Jammin'." I took a breath. "Is that enough information for you? No, you know what, I don't think it is. I'll go on. Everybody in my family wears glasses except for me. My brother is allergic to peanuts and whole milk. My father and I are both allergic to long-haired cats, my siblings and I _all _have seasonal allergies, and my mother's maiden name is Wilson. We got our dog, whose parents were called Tank and Jewel, from one of my dad's old work friends. Let me think, is there anything else? Oh, how about the fact that my sister's broken five bones all on her right side? Or that my brother once had to get stitches above his eyebrow because he got hit with a sled? Now. Is. That. Enough?"

Geez, I never got worked up like this! Especially with strangers!

Max and Fang glanced at each other, then at me.

"I think you're fine," Max said slowly, handing me back my keys.

"Thank you," I sighed, shoving the keys back in my pocket. "I understand your paranoia, but seriously. Nobody can that improvisationally creative on the spot. Now, can I go get some sleep? I am seriously about to fall comatose as I sit." I stood and opened my wings, flinching as the right one splintered in pain.

"You should really get your wing looked at," Fang advised. I gave him a look.

"Thanks, Sherlock!" I said. "I'll get right on that!"

"No, seriously," Max said. "My mom's a vet. She fixed my wing, so she should be able to fix yours."

"You know your real mom and dad?" I asked.

"Yeah. My mom lives in Arizona."

"Ah," I said, sighing. "Um. . .I don't know. . ."

"Why not?" Max demanded. "You need help, you're hurt."

"Look, thanks, but my dad's a nurse. He'll fix me when I get home. Sooner I leave, sooner I get home. Sooner I get home, sooner I get better. Sooner I never have to see you again."

Max looked at Fang--again--and he nodded.

"Right," Fang said. "But do you think you can fly that far?"

"I don't know," I said slowly. "How far you think it is?"

"Well, we're somewhere in Nebraska," Max said. "We were going that way anyway, and it's about five, six hundred miles?"

"Arizona," I repeated to myself. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. "Colorado's closer. I'll just have my dad look at it when I get home."

"But. . .you don't know if your dad's home or not," Fang said. I looked at him and he shrugged. "He was attacked with you, right? Did he escape with you?"

"Uh. . .he did, but it's. . .weird," I said slowly. "We were jumped in an alley and he fought the guys off. He stitched my wing and we went to meet my mom and brother and sister at the store. I waited in the car, but more of those guys showed up and I had to run in after my dad. They followed me in and my dad gave me his jacket and all that crap before pushing me out the emergency exit. I don't know if he's okay or not."

"You might as well come with us, then," Max said. "My mom will help you and you can get better before you go home."

"But the longer I wait, the longer it is I don't know what happened!" I said. "I'm going to go insane if I don't find out what was going on!"

"Look. . .Spark," Fang said. I almost forgot I'd re-named myself that, but looked up before they had reason to suspect I hadn't told them my real name. "Just calm down. If anything, it would be better if you didn't go home right away. If they found you at your old house, they probably know where your real house is."

"Or maybe it was a random attack that went too far," I said. "The thing is, I don't know!"

"We'll do all we can to help you find out," Max promised. Fang sent her an alarmed look but she ignored him. "But we can't help you if you don't come with us and get that wing fixed."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Fine, okay? I'll let your mom take a look at me. After that. . ."

"You can do whatever you want," Max finished. "I won't stop you." She hesitated, then said, "We've never met another bird-kid as old as us."

"Me neither. I thought I'd never have to deal with this crap again." I shook my head. "Somehow, I don't think this is going to be easy as you think. 'The journey of a thousand miles sometimes ends very, very badly,'" I quoted.

Max cracked a smile and said, "Sometimes it does."

And man how right we were.


	4. Chapter 4

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

sorry it took a while. i wish i could use the "studying for finals" excuse, but to tell the truth, i never study. i'm just lazy. sorry.

but now, chapter four!

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_**4. arizona, here i come**_

_"Tick-tock, tick-tock!" the voice on the loudspeaker taunted. "Forty-five more seconds and we release the dogs!"_

_I ran faster through the maze, so frantic by now I couldn't even think straight. I kept running into the same dead ends over and over. _

_I was three years old._

_I could barely run without tripping over my feet every two seconds and flying was impossible in the narrow corridors of the maze. I remembered counting down, desperate to find the exit before the dogs--or Erasers, I guess--were let out in the maze._

_"Ten, nine, eight!" the voice teased. _

_I heard laughter and howling from the outskirts of the room and felt like crying._

_"Three! Two! One!"_

"Ah!"

I sat straight up, my heart pounding, my limbs aching. Breathing hard, I put my hand on my heart and stared at the rocky floor.

"Bad dream?"

I jumped and glared at Fang. "Jesus, don't do that!"

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Do what? Ask a question?"

"Just shut up." I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes. "And if you have to know, yes, I had a nightmare."

Fang was silent, then asked, "How's your wing?"

"Scale of one to ten? About. . .thirteen." I rubbed my eyes and cracked my back. "Sleeping in a cave didn't help much either."

"Sorry we couldn't get you a big cushy bed," he said sarcastically.

"Sorry you couldn't be less ugly," I retorted. "But what're ya gonna do?" I opened one of my eyes and squinted to see his reaction and saw his face harden.

These tauntings came naturally to me--about eight years of endlessly teasing my brother had been great practice.

"Are you being annoying because you're in pain?" he asked tonelessly.

"Nope. The pain just adds to to it."

Max stirred and sat up slowly. Yawning, she said, "Is it morning?"

Fang nodded at her and I looked at my watch. "Is five a.m. Mountain Time early enough for ya?" I asked. I noticed the little day counter on my watch said thirty-one. "Does July have thirty-one days?"

"I didn't even know it was July," Max admitted, stoking the fire to get it going again.

"You guys are so out of it," I mumbled. "Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November. . .yes it does. Thanks for your help."

I saw Max and Fang look at each other and rolled my eyes.

"Oh, come on," I said, sitting up. "You've never heard that?"

"I don't think so," Max said slowly.

_Dude, that's kindergarten! _I thought. Then I hesitated, wondering.

"Have you guys ever been to a real school?"

"Well, a while ago we went for a few weeks in Virginia," Fang said. "Nothing other than that."

"Oh, are you kidding me! You're so lucky!"

"You've been to school?" Max said.

"It kinda comes with the family package. I'm supposed to start tenth grade in. . .aw, man, two weeks," I groaned to myself. "It's gonna _suck_."

"Do you have any friends who know about the wings?" Max asked quickly.

"I'm not an idiot! Nobody knows except my family."

The rest of the kids were beginning to wake up and Fang had gotten the fire up again. Max began rooting through some of the backpacks for food and I went to my dad's balled-up leather jacket. I ignored the bird kids' early-morn chatter and tried to lighten my load. I dumped as many pills as I could into as few bottles and squared everything away into inside pockets and pockets with zippers. Once that was done, I leaned against the wall and tried to ignore my pain.

Until someone threw a granola bar at me.

I started and opened my eyes to find everybody looking at me. I picked up the granola bar and said, "Uh, thanks?"

"Eat it," Max said. "We've got a long way to go today."

"Actually, I think I'm fine," I admitted, putting the bar on the floor of the cave. "I'm not hungry."

They all stared at me like I was crazy.

"How can you _not _be hungry?" Nudge asked, her eyes wide. "I mean, you flew for like, ever with your hurt wing and then you went to sleep! I'd be starving!"

"But I'm not," I said slowly.

"Eat it anyway," Max ordered. "I don't want you crash-landing before we even get there."

I rolled my eyes and nibbled at the granola. "Happy, Miss Teenage Mom?"

Max gave me a look as the others laughed.

We hung out in the cave for about another twenty minutes before Max asked, "You guys ready to go?"

"Uh, one thing before we get in the air?" I said as everybody stood up. I tossed a roll of gauze at Max. "Re-do this?" I turned and pointed to my wing.

"What do we do with the used stuff?" she asked as she changed the bandages.

"Uh, just give it to me," I said. "Pocket until we find a trash can."

"That's unsanitary," Total remarked.

I rolled my eyes as I stood and tied my dad's jacket around my waist. (I was _not _gonna cut slits in it and have him get totally pissed. Besides, I'd already called dibs on it when he stopped wearing it and didn't want to mess it up.)

"Are you sure you can fly okay?" Iggy asked as we filed out of the cave to find a good-sized runway.

"Not entirely," I answered truthfully. "But I've gotta try, right?"

He shrugged it off as Max called out an order to fly.

"What direction?" Iggy asked as I opened my wings.

"Oh, uh. . .run forward about eight feet and then straight up," I said, hoping my guess of the distance was right.

"Thanks," he muttered. I watched him take off before shaking my head and following him into the air.

I try not to think when I fly. I try to concentrate on nothing but the wind under my wings and how far I am from home.

And, because I don't usually fly with other bird-kids, I don't usually talk to said bird-kids.

But I like to watch.

Max and Fang sort-of led a loose formation. Angel flew in the direct middle of everything with Nudge and the Gasman near her. Iggy shadowed either Fang or the Gasman for directional purposes and I brought up the rear.

Oh, geez, I totally forgot about Total.

Those weird little growths on his back? They were wings. He was a flying talking dog! How cool could you get?

He could fly pretty well on his own, but every once in a while he had to take a break in somebody's arms. Other than that, his wings were totally mini-Fang--completely black, sometimes purply-looking in the sunlight. He mainly hung by Nudge and Angel, but if he was hinting for a break he began hounding the older kids.

Around hour three he began hounding me.

"Look, if you need a break, say so," I said irritably. The little dog looked offended.

"I try not to be rude," he said haughtily. "Unlike _some _people with spotted wings."

"Oh, Max can be rude too?" I asked. Max's wings had pale freckly-spots on the bottom, and like I said before, my wings are all spots. "That's good, because I do tend to get honest."

Total laughed. "You're funny, Sparky. I like that."

"You're pretty cool yourself, _Totally_," I retorted. I held out my arms. "Come take a break."

"Thank _you_," he said with relief, landing a little awkwardly in my arms. He got comfortable, then said, "You know, I think we'll get along famously."

I chuckled. "I think we will," I replied. "Do you have an arcane knowledge of pop culture trivia?"

"But of course!" he snorted. "For some reason I have a high understanding of it without having seen any major motion pictures or sitcoms."

"Sweetness," I said.

"I have a question," Total said, squirming around to look at me.

"Come on, I'm not used to holding small dogs," I complained, holding tighter to him. "I might drop you."

"You wouldn't dare. But I wanted to ask about your obvious lie earlier."

"Lie," I repeated. "I don't think I've lied to you guys yet." I mean, I _had _lied about my name, but let's not get picky.

"Of course you have," Total argued. "When you said you weren't hungry this morning. I've been around these kids a while and one thing that's always there is the hunger. You were lying."

I rolled my eyes. "I seriously wasn't lying. It's the way I function."

"Oh, please! You winged wonders burn through calories faster than anything, especially after flying."

"Then I'm a weird winged wonder," I said. "Deal with it."

Total made a skeptical little noise. "Excuse me for caring."

"Seriously, I'm fine," I said, rolling my shoulders uncomfortably. I shifted Total to my right arm and looked at my watch--it was about eight-thirty a.m. Fang had said it was five, six hundred miles, so we'd get to Max's mom's house around noon-ish. I guessed, at least. I sucked at the whole speed/distance/time agenda. Well, that is, unless it was a perfect sixty miles an hour. . .and we were definitely going way faster than that. Eighty, ninety, maybe? That's the upside of flying--no speed limit!

My wing suddenly spasmed in pain and I wobbled dangerously.

"Oh! Aw man!" I flinched and cursed, my wing automatically stiffening. "Total, get out," I warned. "I have to get something!"

"You are _not _dropping me!" he cried, leaping from my arms. His tiny little wings flapped frantically and I rooted through my pockets for my medicine.

"Ow, ow, ow!" I dropped about three empty bottles before I found one of the full ones. Then, I lost about twenty little orange pills when my arm jerked in a stray spasm. Word to the wise: don't try to pop pills mid-flight. It's difficult and you could possibly kill somebody with the dropped projectiles. (Okay, you probably wouldn't kill anybody, but they _could _get hurt. Ha, wouldn't that be funny? Head trauma by pain medication?)

"Are you okay?" Total asked, swooping back by me. I nodded, gliding impatiently as I waited for the medicine to kick in.

Total shook his head in disbelief and circled up to land in Max's arms. She fell back, her eyes narrowed.

"Total said your wing hurts," she said in a weird, no-nonsense tone. "Do you need to rest?"

I glared at the little dog. _You freakish, big-mouthed little Toto!_

"I'm fine, Max," I said.

"Liar!" Total accused. He looked up at Max. "She told me to get out of her arms so she could pop those pills she has."

"I haven't lied to you guys yet!" I said. "I'm fine, I just need a second for the Moltrin to kick in!"

Max looked at me skeptically. "First second you think about those pills again, we're taking a break, got it?"

"Sir yes sir. First second. You got it."

She nodded and shifted airstreams, making to fly to the front of the formation again.

"But what about the second second?" I called. "Do I have to notify you for that too?"

Max glared at me over her shoulder.

"Is that a yes?"

And again she ignored me.

Man, this was fun! You know, despite the whole thing with my wing and the being with strange bird-kids I hardly knew. . .


	5. Chapter 5

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

i do own spark, though.

but yeah. chapter five! read, enjoy, and review!

_**

* * *

**_

_**5. arizona, here i am**_

"We're there!" Max called, beginning to circle and decline. I jumped--I'd kinda zoned out--and looked down below. I squinted and a small house jumped into focus. I even saw a girl with binoculars staring up at us.

I tilted and started tailing Max. "Who's that girl down there?" I asked.

"That's my half-sister, Ella," she replied. "We haven't been here in a while."

"I can leave after she looks at me, right?" I asked as we dropped through the trees behind the house.

"Yes," Max sighed, rolling her eyes. I shook my wings out before pulling them in and slipping on Dad's jacket. I bent my legs and stretched as the rest of the bird-kids fell in.

There was crashing in the undergrowth and a girl with hair similar to Max's came bursting into the clearing, breathless, bright-eyed, and excited. She shrieked in joy before running to tackle Max in a hug. Max smiled, laughed, and hugged her half-sister back. Nudge and Angel joined in to make a group hug.

I put my hands behind my head and waited for the hug-fest to cease.

"Hi, guys!" she exclaimed, removing herself from her sister to look at the rest of us. "Oh my gosh, it's so great to see you!"

Then her eyes found me and her smile faded a little.

"Uh, hi," she said. "I don't think I've met you."

"No," I said, putting my hands in my back pockets. I winced when my wing spazzed. "I'm N--Spark. I ran into these guys yesterday."

"Oh. I'm Ella, Max's sister."

"Hi."

"Uh, Spark's got a problem," Max said suddenly. I rolled my eyes and exhaled. "Her wing's hurt. Where's Mom?"

"Oh, no!" she said, her eyes getting all sad. "She's inside, let's go!"

I sighed again and looked away, reluctant to follow. I'm a very uncooperative little child. I'm also sarcastic, lazy, taunting, distant. . .

"Spark?" Iggy said, touching my wing. I flinched at the contact and the sudden wince of pain.

"Ow! Don't touch me!"

"Sorry," he mumbled. "We're going to the house now."

I patted down my pockets and found my medicine. I held the bottle, then decided against any narcotics. Max's mom might want to do her own thing. I pocketed the bottle and followed the others out of the woods and into the backyard of Max's mom's house.

"Mom!" Ella called as she led us through the door. "Mom, Max is here! Everyone's here!"

Max's mom--a dark-haired Hispanic woman with Max's eyes--came rushing out of the kitchen, her face so full of parental love I felt a pang of homesickness for my own parents.

And, to top it all off, the house smelled amazing, like when my mom made Mexican for dinner--green chile, chicken enchiladas, tacos, burritos. . .aw, man, now I really wanted my mom's chicken and rice! I had to stop thinking about food, especially after flying for at least three hours.

Angel tugged on my sleeve and I looked down at her. She smiled and said, "Earlier you said you weren't hungry."

"Did we fly the same four hundred miles?" I asked, grinning. She giggled.

"Spark?" Max's mom asked. I looked at her. "I'm Dr. Martinez. Max said you hurt your wing?"

"_I _didn't hurt it," I said. "Some freak with a knife did."

Dr. Martinez smiled. "Would you mind if I looked at it?"

I blinked, surprised. Whenever I pulled a wise-ass remark like that, I got dirty looks or rolled eyes. "Uh, no, I don't mind. Max dragged me here so you could do just that."

"Okay. Why don't you wait in the bathroom while I get my things?" she suggested kindly. I shrugged and turned to follow Max to the bathroom. Ella led the rest of Max's flock into the living room and Dr. Martinez went to get her stuff.

Once in the bathroom, Max turned to me and asked, "What's your family like?"

"Why?" I said warily, slowly sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Not the first response that comes to mind, but then again. . .

Max shrugged and leaned against the wall. "We spent our whole lives at the School before Jeb got us out. You escaped when you were five and lived a normal life. I was wondering."

"Oh," I said. "Well, my parents are cool, I guess. Like, my mom's weird in that way where she thinks she's so cool when she's really not, and my dad's pretty literal and funny. My sister thinks she has it so much harder than me when she really doesn't and my brother's just a pain in the ass. Our dog's an idiot and that's pretty much it. Nothing too weird except for me."

Max was quiet for a second, then asked, "Did you go to school?"

"It sucks," I replied frankly. "I mean, I'm pretty smart, so the work is insanely easy, and my friends are pretty cool, but everything else about it ticks me off."

"Like what?"

"Like. . .well, the building itself is huge, but there are, like, a million kids that go there, so it's always crowded. Then there are all the cliques and groups that think they're so much better than everybody else. Oh, and I especially hate the preps and the 'popular' people," I added, putting air quotes around _popular_. "I mean, they don't pay attention in class, so when the teacher asks them a simple question, they act like idiots and say, 'Um, well, I don't, like, know.'"

Max snorted at my imitation and I felt myself smile in return.

"Geez," she said. "Sounds bad."

"It _is _bad," I agreed. "Especially at finals. Everybody freaks out and tries to cram a semester's worth of crap in their heads and I'm like, chill out, and they're like, no way, I have to study or I'll fail, and I'm like, no, you won't, you'll be fine, and then finals end and they're all like, oh, that was easier than I thought, and I'm like, duh, told ya so, and then. . .huh," I said, suddenly stopping mid-rant.

"What?"

"I said 'like' five times in about thirty seconds," I said. "Weird."

"Why is that weird?" Max's mom asked suddenly, entering the bathroom and making me jump.

"Oh, it's not, really," I said, watching her set her bag on the counter. "It's just I had this one English teacher that just hates it when people use 'like' unnecessarily. 'Like' is a preposition, not a substitute for 'said,' 'thought,' 'about,' or 'approximately.' "

"You've been to school?" Dr. Martinez asked, sounding faintly surprised.

"Uh-huh. I escaped Itex when I was five and got adopted at six," I explained. I took off my dad's jacket and laid it over my knees. "Can we get this over with?"

"Let me see," Dr. Martinez said gently, leaning over to see my wing. I stretched it out, clenching my teeth as the wound pained me.

"Oh!" Max's mom gasped a little after she peeled away our makeshift, overlarge Band-Aid. "That's one big paper-cut!"

I was startled into laughing for the first time since I'd woken up in my grandma's house. "It's not that bad?" I asked hopefully.

"You should be fine," Max's mom said, yet she sounded a little unsure. "Who gave you these stitches?"

"I did," Max admitted. "She found us where we were camped out and said they'd opened."

"My dad did it first," I added. "He's a nurse, but we only had sewing thread."

"Yes, I see that. Well, if you let me drive you to my clinic, we can get this done right. You can rest here for a few days."

"Do I have to?" I asked. Dr. Martinez looked at me questioningly. "I mean, I appreciate the help and everything, but can I leave after I get stitches? I really want to go home." I saw Max roll her eyes and glared at her. She didn't know how worried I was for my family.

"It was dangerous that you even flew at all," the vet told me.

"The situation called for it," I said shortly. "I didn't have a choice. And I don't live that far away," I added quickly.

She seemed to consider, then smiled at me again. "Give me one day of rest."

I hesitated, then said, "Fine. One day."

About three hours later, I was stitched up real nice and on some real medication for the pain--Vicadin. Like House! Only both my legs were fully functional, I didn't have a medical degree, and I wasn't a complete and total jerk. (And I was only gonna be on the pills for a few days. I wasn't gonna get addicted or anything--my only addiction was junk food.)

Also, I'd finally gotten a shower and some clean clothes. (The clothes had been a bit of an issue--I mean, Max's mom had a whole bunch of extra clothes for when the flock stopped by, but she hadn't counted on an extra bird-kid. . .or a girl who absolutely hates girl clothes. They'd tried to get me into the stuff she'd originally gotten for Max, but--thankfully--I'd been too tall and was able to wear normal jeans and t-shirt that I think had been in the drawer marked "Fang." But it was all good now.) Next on the list: some R&R before I could duck out and head for the Centennial State.

Seriously, I felt fine now. The Vicadin was blocking the pain--and giving me a bit of a weird, loopy, surreal feeling--and I really, really wanted to see my house again. I wanted to go up to my room and crash on my own bed. I wanted to play mindless video games, read books that made my own life seem less weird, watch my favorite shows on my favorite channel. I wanted to talk with my dad, roll my eyes at my mom, annoy my sister, be annoyed by my brother, mess around with the dog. I wanted my life to return to its normal state.

But normal is just a setting on washing machines.

So I resigned to curling up on Dr. Martinez's couch, watching an old Spongebob I've seen thirty thousand times with kids I hardly knew and yet couldn't be more like me. (Well, they could have dirty-blond hair, light brown eyes, brown-and-white spotted wings, and have a weird obsession with the USA network. . .)

Total picked himself up out of Angel's lap, crawled over Nudge and Iggy and came to sit on me. He sniffed at my dad's leather jacket.

"You smell like dog," he said frankly. I heard Iggy stifle a laugh next to me and rolled my eyes.

"Thank you ever so much for the compliment," I said sarcastically. "His name is TJ, and he's a big-bad German shepherd. Ever seen one of those?"

"Can't say I have," Total sniffed.

"They're police dogs. He'd eat you in three bites," I said. _If he wasn't such a sissy, _I added mentally.

TJ was pretty big, even for a German shepherd, and could usually scare people with his deep barks and big teeth. (Once, my brother and I were in the living room and some guy with a package came up and rang the doorbell. TJ came tearing down the stairs, barking like crazy, and the guy had taken one look at him before dropping the package and practically running back to the truck like a sissy.) In reality, though, the dog was a spoiled little baby that could only hurt you if you got whacked by the tail he was so forcefully wagging in delight. Or if his teeth grazed you when you were oh-so-stupidly holding a treat within snapping distance and not paying attention.

"I'd like to see him try," Total challenged me. "Bring it on, I'll tear 'im to pieces!"

"Fine. Next time you're in the neighborhood, I'll introduce you. But even if you did beat him up, you wouldn't survive the rest of 'em."

"Rest of who?" Total asked suspiciously. I was aware that most of the others had turned away from the TV to listen in on my conversation with Total, but I tried to ignore it.

"The rest of the dogs in the neighborhood!" I answered, sounding falsely surprised. "Did you not think that a block full of families wouldn't have pets?"

"I'll beat all that get in my way!" he announced grandly.

"Oh really?" I said. "You're telling me you can beat up a German shepherd, two small terriers, a poodle, a bloodhound, a pit bull mix, two English dogs, a boxer, an Aussie herder mix _and _a schnauzer? Not counting five cats and a demon parrot?"

Total was quiet, then let out a defiant "Yes."

The room erupted in laughter.

And then fell dead silent as a small clip of music played out of my pocket.


	6. Chapter 6

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**6. ring, ring, ring**_

I froze, my pocket vibrating as the snippet of Santana's "Into the Night" played again. I knew this song by heart. I'd given the CD to my dad last Christmas. Numbly, I reached in my jacket and found the cell phone. _My dad's cell phone._

And it wasn't a call--it was a text message.

**where r u?**

I opened the phone and stared at the number. Kenny was texting me.

"Is that a cell phone?" Nudge asked, surprised. "Why d'you. . ."

"Why do you have a cell phone?" Max interrupted stonily.

"It's not mine," I choked out. "It's my dad's, it was in his pocket." The phone sang again, signaling another message, and vibrated in my hand. Max was glaring at me.

"Look, I swear, he just gave me the jacket and I ran, he probably didn't even know until later!" I said, hating myself for sounding so desperate and pleading.

The phone beeped, reminding me I had an unread message.

"She's telling the truth, Max," Angel said quietly. I smiled at the little girl, thinking, _Thank you, Angel._ The phone beeped again.

"Aren't you going to answer it?" Fang asked mildly, but I saw the tension in his face. I glanced down at the screen to read the message.

**dude where r u its ken**

"It's from my sister," I said quietly.

"Are you sure?" Max asked quickly. "Maybe they got your family and are trying to find you."

"What do I do then?" I said. Total snuffled at the phone, getting dog snot on the screen. I rubbed it on my jeans and he asked, "Who's Ken?"

"My sister," I answered. "Her name's Kendra."

**holy shit answer already!!!!!**

"Now you got me all paranoid!" I said. I waved the phone. "How do I know it's my sister?"

"Ask her something she would know," Iggy suggested. "Like, something _only_ she knows and wouldn't tell anybody."

I hesitated but got a nod of approval from Max. I took a deep breath and texted back.

**what is my bros name?**

I closed the phone and stared at it, very aware of everybody staring at me. I jumped when she responded.

**u fag his names jeremy where r u?!**

"Your sister's mean," Total commented, reading over my wrist.

"She's not mean," I replied. "It's the way we talk."

Nudge came around the back of the couch to read over my shoulder. She asked, "Is that his name?"

"Yeah," I said slowly. "But. . ."

**what did cady s call him?**

"Just in case," I whispered, sending it back. I got an answer almost a second later.

**jeremiah what the hell r u doing?**

I let out a breath of relief. "It's her." I looked up. "I can really talk now, right?"

"I guess," Max said. "But keep it short and turn off the phone. We can't be tracked."

"Got it." I quickly sent a message.

**met some kids like me, i'll be home in a few days**

She came right back at me with a bunch of questions.

**what the hell was that crap b4 r u ok?!?**

**had 2 b sure it was u. im fine how's dad?**

**fine we all got back 2 busias***** & left rite away, we're almost back**

**kewl c u at home**

**dont hang up mom wants 2 talk**

**cant. luv u bye**

I sent the last message and turned the phone off before she could respond. Once it was off I sighed and set the phone on the arm of the couch.

"Okay," I sighed. "What now?"

"I think we need to talk," Max said, standing. She jerked her head toward the back door and I rolled my eyes.

"_Fine_," I groaned. I picked Total up off my lap, grabbed the cell phone, and followed Max into the backyard.

"Yes?" I asked once we were out of the house. Max kept walking, heading toward the woods.

"Let's walk," she said without looking back. I followed her, smiling.

"Is this gonna end up with me dead in a ditch?" I asked sarcastically. Max gave me a dirty look over her shoulder and started to slow down so we could walk side-by-side. "So what's with the walk and talk?" I asked.

"I still have some questions," Max said.

"Like. . .?"

"Like how you didn't know you had your dad's cell phone."

"Uh, human error?" I asked. "It was in his jacket when he gave it to me. It was just so crazy he forgot about it."

"All right then. What about your wings?"

"What about them?" I said slowly. "I've got wings, I fly. What's there to wonder about?"

"You went ten years without anybody finding out?" Max said.

"_Yes_, is that so hard to believe?"

"Actually, it is. I went, what, two days after they kidnapped Angel before I met Ella and my mom. And there was that time in New York when we had to leave this one restaurant through the roof."

"You guys suck at secret-keeping. Ten years, only four people. Mom, Dad, Kenny, and Jeremy," I added quickly when she looked at me. "That's it, I swear."

"Um, I was also wondering about your name," she continued. "If you lived with a human family, they must've given you a name, right? I mean, they didn't call you Spark."

I hesitated, then said, "Right. My real name is Nicole, but when I met you guys, I heard your names and thought I might as well follow your lead."

"So. . .you lied," Max said. I nodded. "And you chose Spark as a fake name."

"What?" I shrugged. "Sounded cool enough. And besides, it coincides."

"That was my next question. Your skills."

"I can control atom movement," I explained. "Atoms make up molecules and ions and when ions concentrate in the sky and on the ground, there's a big flash of electricity and a big kaboom."

_Big flash._

I suddenly froze, a recent memory suddenly flashing across my eyes.

"Spark?" Max said, sounding concerned. I heard her voice, but it sounded distant. "Spark, what's wrong?"

_There was a weird flash, almost like a camera going off, and then steel was slicing through my wing._

"Shit," I breathed.

Max put her hand on my shoulder and shook me a little. "Spark, what's wrong?"

"Damn _it_! When I was attacked, I think the guy got a picture!" I said, running my hand through my hair. "Shit! I'm screwed, screwed, _screwed_!"

"Hey. Hey!" Max snapped her fingers in front of my face and I flinched back. "Did you see the camera?"

"No, but there was a flash! Aw, man, _screw_!"

"Spark, calm down!" Max said loudly, shaking my shoulder. "Did he get your face?"

"No, I think he just got my wings," I said distractedly. "I fell when he slashed me and then Dad knocked him out."

"If he just got your back, you should be fine," she assured me. "We got our pictures taken in New York and we're still alive."

"You're right," I said, taking a deep breath. "You're right. Nobody knows about me anyway."

"Which leads to my next question. How did they not find you?"

"_Quoi_?" At Max's incomprehending stare, I added, "What?"

"We only got away for four years before they found us and captured Angel. You stayed in the same place for ten years and weren't attacked once?"

"No," I said, suddenly puzzled by the thought. "I guess not."

We were quiet, both lost in our own thoughts, until we heard Max's mom calling.

"Ma-ax!"

"We should go back," Max said, turning back in the direction of the house.

"Yeah, whatever."

By the time we got back, Dr. Martinez and the others had set up the table for dinner. While we ate, Dr. Martinez asked, "So, Spark, where do you live?"

"Uh, Monument, Colorado. Just north of Colorado Springs."

"That's kinda far," the Gasman commented.

I shrugged. "I'll be fine. I can leave tomorrow, right?"

Dr. Martinez frowned, but said, "If you really need to. I'd prefer you stay until your wing is better, but I'm assuming your mind is set."

"Kind-of," I muttered.

"We'll fly her back, Mom," Max said. "Don't worry."

My head snapped up to stare at Max. "What was that?"

"We're taking you home," Fang said tonelessly, picking at his food.

"What, I need a flight guard now?" I asked incredulously. "I thought I checked out!"

"It can't hurt," Dr. Martinez offered.

"Besides, I want to make sure you get home okay," Max added.

"Really?" I asked, actually surprised. "No sarcasm?"

"No."

"Okay then," I said uneasily. "If you want to tag along, fine. It'll prolong the heart-wrenching goodbye scene." The little kids giggled into their plates.

"Fine then," Max said, smiling patronizingly at me. "Me, Fang, and Iggy will help you get home."

"What?" Nudge whined. "What about us?"

"You guys are staying here," Max said firmly. "This is just a there-and-back drop-off flight. I don't need you guys tired out for when we leave."

"You're leaving?" Max's mom said, sounding disappointed. Max shifted uncomfortably and Fang cut in.

"Can't stay too long," he said. "Better if we keep moving around."

The vet nodded, but still looked sad, as did Ella. Max looked at me again. "So we'll take you home. We clear?"

"Yeah." I hesitated, then bit my lip to keep a straight face. "But did you have to say that?"

"Say what?" Max asked, not seeing the evil glint in my eye.

"_We clear_. Dude, that's so lame. You could've gone foreign. _Comprende, kapiche_. You could've had fun with it! Dig my jizz, sweetpants?"

Fang and Iggy just flat-out cracked _up _at my _Psych_ quotation. The little kids went into hysterics and even Max's mom giggled. Max sighed and rubbed her temples.

"How about we leave as soon as possible?" she suggested.

"Fine," I said briskly. "Ten sound good?"

"Perfect."

* * *

*_busia _(boo-shuh) is polish for _grandmother_. i sorta based spark off myself, so i when i was writing this i wrote _busia _without another thought. what can i say? i'm a polack.

oh, and even though it won't be neccessary until later in the story, i need some OCs. strictly bird-kid, complete with names, powers, personalities, and physical description. three or four will do, and it doesn't matter what age they are and if they're with or against itex, 'cuz frankly, it doesn't really matter. i ask because i'm kinda empty in the "creating-new-characters" part of my brain. so if you've got an OC you're not using, share it. i need it. i'll give you credit in the chapters they appear and even come to you when i have questions about how they're supposed to act.


	7. Chapter 7

so far, i've recieved 7 OCs. originally i wanted 4 to be my limit, but now i'm thinkin' i'll have 5. i'll let you know which ones are part of the anti-flock next chapter.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**7. little problem. . .or two. . .or three. . .technically four, if you count total**_

So, by ten-fifteen the next morning, Max, Fang, Iggy and I were in the air, headin' for Colorado. My wing was better than before--another night's rest had done the trick. It was just a scar now and I was back on my generic pain-killer, two every seven hours. It still kinda hurt on the downstrokes, but I could deal.

To block out the pain, I amused myself with the highway below us. Like a faded black snake winding through the desolate wasteland. . .

A freaking weird snake with multi-colored bugs on its back. I pushed the analogy out of my head and imagined that the seperate cars were racing each other.

"And there goes the silver SUV," I muttered to myself. "Looks like Soccer Mom's in a hurry, there she goes past Old Man Leland in his gold Focus. . .whoops, just got cut off by High School Punker Logan! He's driving like a maniac! Then again, what teenager doesn't?"

It's not like I actually knew that there was a soccer mom in the SUV or an old guy named Leland in the Focus. And I was just guessing the speeding blue Mustang was a teenage punk. It wasn't real--just amusing.

"Oh, _man_! Caught behind the antique Bug! Punker's boxed in with the Red Lady Bug up front and a Nine-Fiver Work Dad in the white Rav! Aw, no. . .the Bug's goin' off the exit and Lady Bug is officially out of the race!"

"What are you _doing_?"

I jumped and looked to the right and found Fang almost silently keeping pace with me. I felt myself go red and looked back down at the highway.

"I pretend the cars are racing," I said quietly. "It amuses me."

Fang stared at me for a second and I saw his mouth twitch. He wasn't a big smiler--or at least, he hadn't smiled in front of me in the past two days--but I could tell now he was getting close. He shook his head and shifted up an airstream. I glared after him.

"You just killed me inside!" I called loudly. I saw his shoulders shaking and knew he was laughing. I moved the tips of my feathers to adjust my course just the tiniest bit so I could talk to Max. I tapped her wing with mine and she looked up.

"Hey, I got a question," I said. She raised an eyebrow. I nodded my head at Fang. "Have you ever seen him smile?"

Max grinned wryly. "A few times," she said. "Why?"

I opened my mouth to answer when I caught something out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head to look and was utterly confused.

"What?" Max asked, looking in my line of direction.

"That?" I pointed at the dark, moving blob that was heading for us out of the east. "What is it?"

Max squinted and said, "I don't see anything."

"Guess my vision's better," I mumbled, squinting. I started to slow, fixating on the mass. "Uh. . .looks like. . .five or six separate. . .things." I tilted over towards Iggy. "Can you hear anything?"

He seemed to concentrate, but finally said, "I don't think so. Why? What's going on?"

"Damn it," I cursed. "No engines, so they've gotta be. . .people?"

"What are you seeing?" Max asked, sounding irritated.

"I can't tell just yet, they're not close enough!" I snapped. I finally came to a stop, hovering in place, and closed my eyes. I took a deep breath and tapped into my avian senses. I know, it sounds weird, but I found out when I was about ten that I had a super-zoom visionary ability when I concentrated and zoned out. I remember clearly because my sister had freaked out when my eyes had turned bright yellow, like a hawk's eyes. Then I'd konked out--not only did my eyes and head hurt for a week, but I was totally beat. Diving into your own DNA sucks all the life outta ya, I guess. (Ironic that my favorite people in the whole world all had sucky vision, innit?)

I opened my eyes and focused on the moving mass, which was closer. My eyes riveted on six individual, angry-looking wolf-people with wings. Wolf people were Erasers, right? So what were flying Erasers? Flasers?

"Spark, your eyes!" Max cried. I jolted out of my trance and felt huge pain throbbing in my head. I gasped and dropped a few feet.

"Dammit," I mumbled, taking deep breaths. "They're. . .flying Erasers. Coming this way. Oh!" I cringed as pain stabbed my temple.

"Are you okay?" Fang asked, looking concerned. "Are you sure you saw Erasers?"

"Yes, I'm fine," I said, waving it off, "and yes, I'm sure that's what they were. Werewolves with wings."

"Spark, do you have that cell phone?" Max asked. I nodded wearily and started patting my pockets, looking for it.

"I see 'em now," Fang called out. "They're Flyboys, about six!"

"What're Flyboys?" I asked groggily, forgetting about my phone and feeling super-tired. I hadn't used hawk-eyes in a long time. My right wing strained to keep my body in the air, but it was failing. The sky was turning gray around the edges of my vision. My wings folded in automatically and then I was losing altitude, fast.

"Fang, Iggy, catch her!" Max ordered. "Find that phone!"

The guys came up on either side of me, holding me up. Fang tore my dad's jacket from around my waist and tossed it at Max.

"Let's go! South-west, back the way we came!" she shouted, rooting through the pockets of the jacket. "Look for a place to land!" She must've wanted to call her mom, because she asked, "Spark, where the heck did you put that thing?"

My head throbbed. "I-inside pocket," I muttered. "Left side."

And that's when I slipped out of consciousness.

Fang POV

Spark fell limp between me and Iggy. Before she'd started to fall, I'd seen her eyes turn a creepy yellow, like a hawk's eyes. She'd described the Flyboys--all six of whom were now in full sight--perfectly. She had super-vision.

"Left inside pocket!" I called to Max, who was still searching through Spark's jacket. She found the cell phone and made a quick call.

"Come on!" she shouted after hanging up. "We've gotta land!"

I nodded and started to search for a place to crash land. Iggy and I banked a little to the right and started to dive for the loose forest that had appeared below. I heard the droning of the Flyboys. Max pulled up alongside us and I could just see the worry on her face.

"They close?" I asked. She nodded. I glanced back and saw the Flyboys were gaining, chanting monotonously.

"Ig, you got a bomb?" I asked suddenly. For a second he looked surprised, but then he said, "Yeah, why?" I shifted my position and took hold of Spark underneath the arms. "Set it off, I got her."

Iggy nodded grimly and veered off, reaching in his backpack. Max came up beside me. "What are you thinking?" she demanded. "If he sets something off it'll give us away for sure!"

"You got a better idea?" I asked. I found an opening in the trees below and began to dive. Not like I'd ever admit it, but I was a little worried for Spark. She seemed freakishly light, even for a bird kid. I heard Max bark an order and then I recoiled from the blast of Iggy's bomb detonating, no doubt destroying all the Flyboys. I dropped through the top of the trees and landed a little awkwardly in a small clearing. I pulled my wings in and set Spark down on the ground. Her face was pale.

Max and Iggy dropped in behind me, Max looking ticked and Iggy a little pleased. I guessed Max still wasn't happy with my bomb idea. I ignored it--we had other stuff to worry about.

Max POV

I wasn't too happy with Iggy's bomb--though it had effectively destroyed the flying robot Erasers, no doubt they had a backup team that was heading straight for us. But Spark was unconscious. . .I was torn. We could try and run, but we'd have to carry her, and none of us would be able to do that for long. If we stayed, there was chance of capture. Not for the first time, I guiltily wondered if it was the best idea to keep Spark with us.

I went to kneel by Fang, Iggy wordlessly following me.

"What's wrong with her?" I asked Fang. He shrugged and shook his head. I hesitated, then asked in a low voice, "Did you see her eyes?"

"Creepy," Fang muttered. "Like a hawk's."

"Can we hurry this up?" Iggy asked impatiently. "I think I can hear them."

"Uh. . ."

Oh, thank God--she was coming to. Spark groaned and sat up, putting a hand to her head.

"Aw, man," she mumbled. Her eyes--which had reverted to their normal golden brown--blinked a few times. She sniffled and a trickle of red dripped from her nose.

"Spark!" I said, relieved and annoyed at the same time. "What happened?"

She winced, as if my voice had hurt her ears. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she muttered, "Not so loud. It'll only. . ." A drop of blood fell on her knee, staining her jeans. She held her sleeve to her nose and drew it away. "Oh, and here comes the blood. Perfect."

"Spark, what happened to you?" I repeated, trying to sound sympathetic and concerned. Like I wasn't more than a little impatient and mad on the inside.

"I figured out when I was about ten that I could tap into some hawk senses," she explained, her voice sounding funny through her clogged-up nose. "Mainly sight. It's like a zoom button for my eyes. But it totally drains me and I get weird side effects like puking, headaches, and bloody nose."

"Can you fly?" I asked, but even I could hear the droning now.

Spark took a deep breath and nodded. "Fast enough to get away."

Fang looked up and said, "We're gonna have to fight. Not good."

I cursed under my breath and stood up. "Spark, stay down. We'll be right back."

"I am _not _staying back!" she argued, struggling to her feet. A wave of fatigue crossed her face and she flushed.

"Yes you are," I said. "Look at yourself, you won't last five minutes."

She began to shake her head but surprisingly agreed. "I hate it, but you're right." She hesitated, then asked, "Does this mean I can't go home yet?"

"Probably not," I said shortly, avoiding her gaze. She sighed and I did an up-and-away.

Spark POV

It probably hadn't been the best idea to use hawk-vision mid-air, but it had saved our asses. It had alerted Max to the impending danger, it had. . .

A twig cracked and I jumped up, turning toward the noise, my fists raised. At first all I saw were the trees--everything beyond was cast in shadow, all black and fuzzy. Then three figures and a smaller shadow emerged out of the trees and I rolled my eyes, lowering my hands.

"You guys were supposed to stay in Arizona," I said as Angel, Nudge, the Gasman, and Total entered my view. Oh, another downside of hawk-eyes: my vision was almost human for a few hours. "What're you doing here?"

"We followed you," Angel said simply, smiling innocently. That girl's a sweet kid, really. She could do anything she wanted and probably get away with it. . .it had to be the blond curls and amazingly blue eyes. She frowned and asked, "Why are you down here? Max and Fang and Iggy are up there talking."

"About what?" I asked quickly. I wanted to know what those flying Erasers were and how the hell they'd found us. I was pretty sure it wasn't my fault--I'd gone ten years without an attack--but I wasn't really sure (given the fact I _was _attacked back in Chicago).

"Um, Max wanted us to stay at her mom's house," she said, rubbing her forehead. "She called her mom and said we should stay there."

"But you were already on your way," I finished. "So the call was kinda pointless."

Angel nodded. "Dr. Martinez told Max we'd stay safe. She didn't actually lie, but she didn't tell the truth, either. Why are you down here again?"

"I, uh, had an episode," I said uncomfortably.

"Episode? Like what kind?" Nudge asked. "Did you faint while flying or something? Can you do that? Well, I guess, 'cuz Fang did after Ari almost killed him. . ."

"Nudge?" I interrupted. She fell quiet. "I saw some Erasers flying toward us and fainted during the runaway. So the fight's over, you said?" I asked, looking back at Angel. She nodded, her bright curls catching the faint light.

"But why'd you faint?" the Gasman said, rubbing the back of his head. "Did you get hurt?"

"No," I said slowly. "I, uh, have an ability that can let me see really far. It's kind of dangerous to do. I get really tired and get headaches and stuff."

"Cool!" Nudge said. "Like a zoom button on your eyes? That's so cool, how far can you see?"

"Uh, I don't really know," I admitted, scratching the back of my neck. "Somebody always snaps me out of it before I can tell how far away it is." I looked up, squinting to see Max, Fang, and Iggy hovering close together. They were barely the size of my finger from down here. There were no flying Erasers that I could see.

Total trotted up to sniff at my feet, his little black wings fluttering and lifting his feet a few inches off the ground. "I can't believe you thought you could leave me behind," he said, wagging his little tail. "We've got a bet on that fight, remember?"

I smiled wryly. "Yeah, I remember." I shook my head. "I still think TJ could take you down." Total snorted in disbelief.

"Angel?" I asked. "Can you go up there and see what they're doing?" I pointed up at the three older kids. Angel looked up.

"They're talking about your eyes now," she said. "And about how the Flyboys found us."

"What-boys?" I asked.

"Flyboys," the Gasman said. "They're robots."

"Ohh. But still. Shouldn't Max know you guys snuck after us?" I asked, watching the three of them and raising my eyebrows. They all three looked at each other and grinned guiltily. Angel opened her white wings, backed up, and jumped in the air. I leaned back against a tree and slid as best I could to the ground. Total crawled into my lap and I scratched his head absently.

"Oh, that's the spot," Total sighed, closing his eyes. I looked down, surprised, and saw I was rubbing the spot between his eyes, like I always did with TJ back home. Home. . .my throat tightened, but I managed a weak smile. "Little lower, a little lower." I obliged and his little foot started twitching in the universal sweet-spot kick. "There we go."

Angel, Max, Iggy, and Fang broke through the trees again, Max looking more than a little mad.

"Why the heck did you guys follow us?" Max demanded. Nudge and the Gasman shrunk away, but Angel piped up.

"It's best when we're all together," she said. "Even if it's just a little mission like this."

Max sighed and rubbed her temples. "All right. I guess, in a way, it's good you came. They found us, which means we've gotta fly. Do you guys have your stuff?"

"Uh-huh," Nudge said brightly. "Your mom told us to be prepared."

"She what?" Max asked sharply.

"We told her we were gonna follow you and she said it was okay," the Gasman said innocently. "She made us take our stuff and all the stuff you left."

"She did?" Fang said, sounding mildly surprised. "That's kinda weird."

"She said she had a feeling," Nudge said, shrugging.

Max looked at her warily, but seemed to accept it. "Whatever." She looked at me. "Hey, Spark, you think you can fly?"

"Is the velocity of an unladen swallow twenty-four miles an hour?"

Max stared at me. Guess she hadn't seen _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_. Or Googled the velocity of an unladen swallow ( 'cuz my friends are just that cool).

"It. . .is," I muttered, feeling stupid. "I think I can fly. Where are we going?"

Max glanced at Fang and he shrugged. Max thought about it for a second, then said, "Let's try north, north-west."

I closed my eyes and saw a topographical map of the western States in my mind, a version I'd seen on the wall of my Civics classroom all freshman year in Miss Murray's room. I assumed we were in north-east Arizona, possibly near the Four Corners. North-west was Utah, Nevada, Idaho, as far west as north Cali.

"Fine with me," I said, opening my eyes. "How far north-east? Can we stop in Vegas? I rock at poker."

Max rolled her eyes and said irritably, "You have to be twenty-one or something to play."

"True," I said, making myself sound defeated. I smirked. "But if we stop in Utah, we can go to Salt Lake City!"

"What's in Salt Lake City?" Max asked warily.

I bit my lip to keep a straight face, failed, and grinned like an idiot. "American Idol auditions, dude! You only have to be sixteen to enter, and we can totally get away with lying about that! Which one of you loves to sing? Please tell me it's you," I said, casting a glance at Fang.

The whole flock just exploded with laughter, laughing way harder than last night at the dinner table, and some so hard they got hiccups and lost a few feet of altitude (that one was Nudge).

It was enough to get even Max laughing. Hysterically, I might add.

And the look on Fang's face? Totally priceless. An uncomprehending death-glare of confused irritation that I will never forget despite the fact that I never forget anything anyway. I just cracked up inside when I tried to picture Fang on the same stage as Ryan Seacrest, getting totally owned by Simon Cowell.

Besides--I had a feeling about that place. I was getting some insane vibes off of the Lake of Salt.

I'd tell Max later.


	8. Chapter 8

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride

**_

* * *

_**

_**8. mutant-bird-kid bachelor auctions**_

"Max, can we take a break?" Nudge asked, sounding only a little bit whiny. I looked at Max for her reaction and found her looking at me. She seemed to think I was tired--which, I'll admit, I kinda was--because she agreed.

"Yeah, let's land," she called. "Stop for lunch."

We began to circle and I guessed we were somewhere in the southern tip of Nevada. I squinted and saw a small town a few miles north-west.

"There's a town," I said. Had to squint insanely to see it, but maybe that was just me. "Couple miles that way."

Max looked where I was pointing and nodded. "We need supplies anyway."

We landed behind a bus station (an actual cross-city bus station!) and hid our wings under jackets and whatknot. Thankfully, the town was big enough to not notice seven extra kids and a small black dog wandering the surprisingly busy streets. It was like a mini Manhatten, only without the big lights and pollution. And instead of New York City, it was Parker, Nevada. And instead of skyscrapers and brownstone houses, there were condos and mom-and-pop shops that had apartments above the stores.

"Is anybody else annoyed by crowds?" I asked irritably, sidestepping another pedestrian that was too intent on his texting to notice anything else. Oh, I could've smacked him so hard! "Seriously, this is worse than my high school."

It was barely an hour after our run-in with the Flyboys, so I was still feeling the side-effects of my hawk eyes pretty badly. I was all woozy and headachy and I had to keep checking if my nose was bleeding and I felt like I was gonna puke any second.

"Why is it worse?" Angel asked me.

"There are like a million kids that go there," I said shortly, rubbing the side of my head. I was dying to pop another Moltrin, but Dr. Martinez had made a point of telling me not to OD. "And everybody walks so freaking slow it drives me insane."

"We're all claustrophobic too," Max said absently, scanning the crowd. I wondered why for a second, then remembered how paranoid she was about people following us and tracking us and whatknot. "But it's easier to blend."

"Blend?" I repeated. "Look, it's America. There's no need to blend."

"What d'you mean?" Nudge said, sounding confused. "I mean, we're all tall and skinny and we usually have old clothes and stuff so we kinda stick out. . ."

"Have you _seen _our generation?" I asked. "_Everybody's _tall and skinny."

"I bet nobody's as weird as us, though," Fang mumbled.

"Uh, actually, you don't wanna go there. There are kids in my grade that are way taller than me and a few that're barely bigger than Angel. Some people dye their hair random colors and wear pajamas to school. Other kids have so many piercings I don't even wanna count and I can name four guys right now that have gotten their hair permed."

"Guys can get perms?" Nudge asked. "That's so weird!"

"It ain't pretty," I assured her. "Trust me."

In the brief silence that followed this little conversation, I thought again about the whole blending idea.

I mean, people go undercover and stuff and think the main thing is to fade into the background. They have to keep the waters calm and not draw attention to themselves. I always thought that was stupid, 'cuz the main thing about "blending in" is making it look like you're a normal person--and normal people don't usually fade into the background. New kids at school try to get themselves noticed so they can make friends. Actually, screw that analogy. _Anybody _in a new environment does that. (Unless they're The New People, the weird family that moved in next door a while ago. Seriously, four years in that house and not one of them has made an attempt to become part of the giant circle of friends that is my neighborhood. Huh. . .given my theory, maybe they're an undercover FBI family trying to "blend in.")

Angel giggled and I looked down at her, smirking. "You know, sometimes it's annoying when you read people's minds," I told her knowingly.

She shrugged. "I can't really help it. And your thoughts are funny."

I rolled my eyes, smiling again as we turned a corner and crossed the street.

"Where are we going?" I suddenly asked, glancing up and down the new avenue. Bakeries, delis, and a few diners lined the sidewalk.

"Lunch," Max said over her shoulder.

"Good, 'cuz I'm starvin'," Total said. I almost jumped--he'd been quiet the past couple minutes 'cuz he was playing Iggy's service dog, and service dogs don't usually talk. Iggy was wearing sunglasses, too, so they looked as normal as a blind kid and his service Scottie can be.

Max led us to the nearest diner, a sixties-themed place called Rosie's Diner. She was first in, the littler kids on her heels. I had to slow down a bit and look up at the sign.

"I've been here before," I said absently, more to myself than anybody else. Fang's hand hesitated on the handle of the door.

"You've been here," he repeated. "This place?"

I shook my head. "Not _here_ here, you idiot. There's one of these by my house." Fang rolled his eyes and went inside.

"So how's the grub in this joint?" Total demanded. I shrugged a shoulder.

"Decent. But really, I say I've been here and you give me third degree. How paranoid _are _you guys?"

"Pretty paranoid," Iggy answered, catching the door before it could shut all the way. (I'll never know how he did that, considering he's blind.) "We try not to go to the same place twice."

"And why not?" I asked. I blinked as we entered the diner, my eyes adjusting to the dimmer lighting. Max was already asking the hostess for a table. The lady--a young brunette with a classic "rather be anywhere but here" expression--picked up some menus and started leading us toward a corner booth.

I glanced around the room, taking in a few families, some groups of friends, and a few loners up at the bar. The families were of the happy, normal type--younger children, smiling parents, no doubt a perky little puppy to go home to. The kids were mainly teenagers, blowing straw wrappers at each other, texting, generally being obnoxious.

My eyes stung. I remembered when my family had been like the ones here--no over-dramatic teenaged daughter, no pain-in-the-ass son, no existence-questioning mutant adoptee, no between-job father, no pissed-off-at-everything mother. I remembered my own friends, who could out-loud any of these kids without even trying.

Suddenly my eyes blacked out and I had to freeze mid-step, so suddenly Iggy bumped into me.

"Sorry," he tried to say, but then realized I wasn't moving at all. "Wait, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said, squeezing my eyes shut. Little white spots burned my eyelids and I barely felt Iggy touch my shoulder in concern. "This happens after I. . .um, zoom my vision." I blinked hard and my vision slowly returned. I started walking again, quickly trying to get to the booth before Max's annoyed looks turned to pissed-off glares. I slid in next to Angel and tried to look like nothing had even happened.

"What was that?" Max immediately leaned over the table and demanded an explaination. "Everybody's staring now!"

I glanced back and saw a bunch of heads turn away. Some of the teenagers whispered behind their hands at us. I turned back to Max and shrugged. "Side effect. My vision spazzed out and I automatically stopped. Sorry."

She rolled her eyes and slid a menu in front of me. "Just pick something so we can eat and get out of here."

I had to restrain myself from giving a snappy retort. I've been trying to rein in that sort of thing, 'specially since I don't really know these kids very well.

The rest of the hour creeped along. At least, for me it did, 'cuz honestly, I've been less bored during CSAP* testing. I did some observing of my fellow bird-kids, though, and added a few notes to my ever-growing list of how "normal" mutants act.

First of all, they all ate a lot. I mean, I usually only eat when I'm hungry, which is a small window of the two hours after I get out of school. And even then, it's mostly junk food or anything that doesn't require effort to make.

Second of all, Max and Fang constantly scanned the restaurant, like they were expecting the innocent families and groups of teenagers to turn into Erasers and attack. Paranoia, people. Gotta love it.

Third of all, Angel had another mind ability that made the people around us not really notice Total, sitting at his own place eating his own food. Mind freaks are the coolest of cool, am I right?

It was weird, but kinda cool too. Like, weird in the way they were so different from me, even in the littlest ways, and cool in the way that we were all the same in the biggest way possible.

But as I said, it was mainly uneventful. Excepting the part where I blew a straw wrapper that bounced off Max's head and into Fang's water.

Anyway.

After lunch, we hunted down a discount store to get new clothes. It would've been another uneventful adventure if there hadn't been two guys about my age taking a survey at the doors.

Fang, Iggy, and the little kids were able to get past the surveyers without being stopped, but Max and I weren't so lucky.

"Um, excuse me," one of the guys said, waving. Being a human-raised kid and not thinking a couple of teenagers could be threatening, I stopped. "Could we ask you a couple questions? We're doing a survey." He gestured back to his friend, who was holding a clipboard and a pen.

"Uh, sure," I said, ignoring Max's annoyed death-glare. She tried to drag me away but the guys jumped right into the questioning.

"Okay, this first question's optional, but, uh, what's your name?"

"My name? I'm Kimberly Fairchild," I lied. I pointed at Max. "And this is my associate Sapphire Starfruit. But you can call her Jade."

The boy with the clipboard smiled uncertainly as he scribbled down my answer. The questioning one smirked.

"Um, how many hours outside of school do you spend with friends?"

"Hm. . ." I pretended to think. "I don't know. Like. . .zero? Half?"

"What's your favorite color?"

"Fire engine red. Or Barney-the-dinosaur purple. I can't really choose."

The boy hesitated a second. "I haven't seen you around," he said. "Do you go to Parker High?"

"Not a chance," I said smoothly. "My family lives in Arizona. We're going up to Idaho to visit family."

"Oh," he said, almost looking disappointed. "Um, one last question, then. If your brother and your sister were both hanging off the edge of a cliff and you could only save one of them, who would you save?"

I paused. "Why are they hanging off the edge of a cliff?"

The boys looked at each other, clearly surprised. What, no one had asked that yet?

"Uh. . .a psychopath with a .35 cal forced them off the edge," the guy with the pen suggested. "Who would you save?"

"Is the psychopath still there?" I asked mildly. "Because if he isn't, why can't I save both of them?"

Max sighed and started pulling at my arm, dragging me away, and the boys started to snicker.

"Or what if I don't have any siblings?" I stood my ground, still talking. "What if I'm an orphan, totally alone with no friends or family whatsoever? And why can't I just pull out my cell phone and call 911? I mean, I don't _have _a cell phone of my own, but that's beside the point, right?"

Max finally succeeded in hauling me into the store as the two guys laughed behind us.

"Why do you do stuff like that?" she hissed at me, dragging me by the arm over to where the others were hanging on the inside of the entrance. "It's not funny!"

"They apparently thought so," I said coolly. I winced as a pang of pain arced from my temple. "Besides, it's not like they're dangerous. I didn't even tell the truth."

"That doesn't matter," she snapped. "If you're going to be hanging out with us, you have to do what I say, and I say you can't do stuff like that!"

"Fine, fine! Geez, it's just a joke. Calm down."

Apparently she didn't want to, 'cuz she rolled her eyes and took Nudge and Angel to the girls' section of the warehouse-like store.

"What'd you do now?" Fang asked, smirking.

I shrugged. "I was just being myself. Max apparently doesn't like it."

"Might've been 'cuz you called her Sapphire Starfruit," Iggy said, grinning.

"Hm. Maybe."

"You're a piece of work, Sparky," Total snorted, shaking his head. "That was good."

I smirked evilly and turned. "It was either Sapphire Starfruit or Crystal Chandelier. But I thought the second one might be too stripper for Max."

As I scanned the signs hanging from the ceiling, I heard the guys break down in snickers.

About an hour later, most of us had picked out new clothes. The apparent dress-code for the flock was jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket of some sort. Nothin' too fancy, but that was okay, 'cuz it's how I functioned.

Nudge, Angel, Gazzy, Max and I were hanging by a giant sunglasses display. The kids were trying on everything they could, just for fun, but I could tell Max was getting a little impatient. I was too.

"Are we done yet?" I muttered, trying not to sound too bored. Max gave me a look that said, _I wish we were, but no_. I rolled my eyes and sighed, casting my eyes around the store. I caught a glimpse of Fang and Iggy in the mirror above the sunglass rack.

"Geez, they're taking forever," I muttered, rubbing the side of my head. I had a major headache now, which had only gotten worse after my vision had blanked out on me again. "They're such girls."

Max snorted and I had an evilly humorous brainwave. Hopefully evilly humorous enough to get Max to forgive me for my actions today.

"Ladies, I welcome you to the Maximum Ride Bachelor Auction!" I said under my breath, just loud enough for Max to hear me. She looked at me, completely bewildered, and I went on, using my date-show-host voice. "First up, we have Fang Ride. Standing just under six feet tall, Fang is fifteen years old with a wingspan of fourteen feet! True to his image, Fang often models his trademark basic black ensemble."

I glanced at Max and saw she was fighting a smile.

"Now, Fang may seem like he's not in touch with his feminine side, but girls, let me tell you, this piece of ravenwing is a hopeless romantic. Fang loves to write poetry in his spare time, but his real weaknesses are cozy little campfires and long walks on beaches that aren't under attack from crazy mutant werewolves." They'd told me about how they'd been attacked by Erasers on a beach somewhere on the East Coast--Fang had almost died.

But despite that, Max was giggling now.

"At times, you'll feel like Fang doesn't care about you, but trust me, he does. He'll hold you when you cry, he'll do anything to see you smile! Can we start the bidding at one dollar?"

Max was nearly bent double, holding her sides and having silent fits of hysterics.

"No? Oh, come _on_, ladies! Have you seen this boy? He's better-looking than Zac Efron! Hard to believe, I know, but it's true! Do I hear seventy-five cents? No? Then give me a quarter, give me a dime! He's desperate, I tell you, desperate! Do I hear five cents?"

"Please. . .stop!" Max choked out, almost crying in laughter. "I can't. . .breathe!"

"Is that a bid I hear?" I asked, putting a hand to my ear. "A nickel?" I shrugged. "It's cheap, but it'll work. I have five cents, going once, going twice! Sold! Thank you, miss, Fang appreciates your pity. And next on the list we have Iggy!"

"Please, don't!" Max begged.

"Iggy is six-three with a fifteen-foot wingspan. Like Fang, Iggy's fifteen, but unlike the black-winged rock, Iggy prefers to deck himself out in the lighter colors of the rainbow. He's brilliant, funny, and just loves those pyrotechnics! Now, Iggy may be blind, but believe me, girls, he doesn't need to see you to know how beautiful you really are. Do I hear a dollar? Seventy-five cents? Fifty? Oh, come on, give me a break, people! Oh, wait, that's fifteen cents! Going once, twice, sold! Miss, it is on Iggy's behalf that I thank you profusely."

"What are you guys _doing_?"

Max and I both jumped at Fang's voice. We whirled to see that he and Iggy had finished with their shopping and had snuck up behind us to see why Max was spazzing out in hysterical giggles. I smiled patronizingly.

"Nothin'," I said casually. "You girls done?" I made my eyes wide and innocent and Max giggled yet again.

I like to make people laugh. Is that such a crime?

* * *

*CSAP = Colorado Standardized Assessment Program. it's this yearly test we take from third grade to tenth grade, like a check-up exam on math, reading, writing, and science. it really sucks, mainly 'cuz you can't do anything when you're done. thankfully, i don't have to take them anymore.

and i have decided upon my anti-flock:

constantine (a.k.a. con), age 16, submitted by blackberry01.

blaze, age 16, submitted by 11Twilightcrazy.

swift, age 14, submitted by FireHawk43.

avia (a.k.a. avi) foster, age 13, submitted by GrimmGurl4Lyf3.

there's still room for one more--preferably a boy. if anyone else wants to submit, you've got till the 20th. and actually, they'll make a brief appearance next chapter. earlier than i thought they would, but it works. so until next time.


	9. Chapter 9

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

**_

* * *

_**

_**9. damn side effects**_

We finally made it out of the clothing place and were in the air after a quick stop at a grocery store. Packs were emptied of old stuff and filled with new stuff, mostly of the non-perishable-food variety. I'd even gotten my own backpack now, full of things that were apparently useful while on the run. We flew north-west until it started to get dark--then we circled around until we found a decent place to camp out.

It was a cozy little clearing in a national forest of some sort, with trees blocking almost every entrance in, which was ideal for paranoid bird-kids like Max.

"Um, who had the matches again?" Max called from where she was kneeling by a small pile of kindling. I dug my hand in my pocket and pulled out a lighter.

"Heads!" I said, chucking it.

Max barely turned in time to catch it. She looked at it warily, like she didn't know what it was. "Where'd you get this?"

"Oh, it's this magical and mysterious place I like to call _my pocket_," I said sarcastically. A couple people giggled as Max rolled her eyes. "What? I like to light things on fire and blow stuff up. Lighters are essential for that kinda thing."

It was true--ever since I was a kid I loved things of the flammable nature. I dissected old fireworks, made my own miniature bombs, started fires out in the backyard's chiminea every chance I could. My mom and dad learned long ago to stop telling me my lighters and matches were dangerous, 'cuz I never really hurt myself and frankly didn't care.

Max let out a little groan and rolled her eyes. She mumbled something I didn't catch.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"She said, 'Great, another fire freak,' " Iggy said, smirking. "Me and the Gasman like to light things on fire and blow stuff up too."

"Wicked."

I won't bore you with the details--I'll just say for the next couple of hours I talked Pyronese with Iggy and Gazzy. They were mainly into bombs, and I normally worked fireworks, so we exchanged our differing areas of expertise.

Dinner was basically whatever we could stick over an open fire, and then it was bed. Max said she'd take first watch before waking up Iggy for second watch. (That's when I realized how truly freakish about safety these kids were. Either some really bad things had happened to mess them up or somebody had hammered these things into their brains. I couldn't decide which.)

But either way, I fell asleep leaning against the trunk of a tree, my dad's leather jacket acting as a blanket.

Iggy POV

Even though I'm blind, I close my eyes when I'm on watch. It just helps me concentrate my hearing. I don't really know how to explain it.

But it was about halfway through the watch when the person four feet to my right woke up, practically hyperventilating. It was Spark, and her breath was quick, uneven, and heaving. She didn't seem to know I was awake, or maybe just didn't care.

A few seconds later she scrambled to her feet and ran for the cover of the trees. I turned my head, straining to hear as her light steps carried her further and further away, and thought about waking up Max, but then there was a sickening _splat _sound and I shuddered.

Coughing. More gross _splat_. I guessed she was throwing up.

I got to my feet, torn between staying on watch and wanting to check to see if Spark was okay.

I ended up going to find Spark. 'Cuz if I could hear her from here, I'd be able to hear the flock from wherever she was. At least, that's what I was hoping.

I followed the sound of her coughing until I could sense her right front of me. She must've been facing away, 'cuz she didn't acknowledge me. She was breathing hard, like she'd run a marathon.

"Um, are you okay?" I finally asked.

Her breath caught and there was a soft rush of cloth as she whirled around. She sighed.

"Jesus! You scared the hell outta me, dude," she whispered, almost as if she couldn't speak louder if she tried. She took a couple of deep breaths. "What are you doing here?"

"I, uh, heard you run off," I said, trying to explain. "I came to check if you were okay."

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said automatically. "You can go back to sleep, I'll be back in a minute."

"Fine," I echoed. I shook my head. "Your definition must be different than mine, 'cuz mine doesn't include puking your guts up."

That got a half-laugh out of her, and I heard her step forward. "Thanks, but really, I'll be fine. It's another side effect of that visionary ability I used yesterday." She started walking back for the camp, so I followed.

"You sure?" I couldn't really explain to myself why I was feeling protective like this. I barely knew her, and she'd already said she was fine. . . But before I knew it, I was asking, "Is there anything I can do?"

Spark coughed again and I stopped. "Spark?"

"You could move, I think I'm gonna puke again!"

I took a couple hasty steps back and shuddered when I heard more disgusting throwing-up noises. After they'd stopped, I wandered forward a few steps, until my fingers brushed Spark's back.

I don't really know how to explain my ability to feel colors. Each color is just. . .different, somehow, and I can feel the differences. But Spark's thin hoodie was black, with some gray and white figures and letters on the front. I moved my hand until I was touching Spark's shoulder, then concentrated. I started to sense the shirt beneath the hoodie--an ocean blue color with some black writing on it--and then the skin beneath the shirt. A tan colored-pencil kinda color, but with a whitish undertone.

"You feel pale. Are you sure you'll be okay?"

Spark POV

Okay, _now _I was hearing things. Damn side effects!

I spat a couple times and took a deep, calming breath. "I _feel _pale?" I finally asked, my voice all scratchy from the burning vomit.

"I can feel color," Iggy said. "And you feel pale."

I stood up straight, stretching my back, which was aching from being hunched over. My wings shifted on my back and I knew what they wanted. What _I _wanted.

Whenever I get sick (which is more often than I'd like), it feels like I'm ready to die. My parents force me to stay home and I start to realize how. . .how. . ._frustrating _human life is. I mean, I'm not human! Why should I act like one? As soon as I was able, the feeling made me wanna fly and fly and just never stop.

And every single time, I ended up sneaking out my window at two a.m. and jumping to the driveway, where I'd start running. Across the cul-de-sac, through the yellow light cast by the streetlamps, up the quiet street, running until I just couldn't take it and I jumped, unfurling my wings and letting the night swallow me up until the sun came peeking over the horizon. . .

I hunched over, fighting the urge to hurl yet again.

"Are you _sure. . ._" Iggy began, but then he stopped mid-sentence. I glanced back at him and saw he'd straightened up, his brow furrowed.

"What's wrong?" I asked weakly. "I didn't even get a chance to interrupt."

Iggy shook his head. "I think the others are awake. Max was calling our names."

"Geez, and you _heard _her? That's awesome."

I saw Iggy's normally pale face turn the slightest shade of pink. Aw, I'd made him blush! It made me kinda goofily happy for some odd reason.

"We should go back," he said, turning toward the campsite. "We're in enough trouble as it is."

"Wait, Max is gonna be_ mad _that we ran off in the middle of the night?" I asked, making my voice sound shocked. "How uncharacteristic of her."

Iggy snickered and I myself smirked, probably for the last time that night. After all, I'd pissed off Max earlier, so I was bound to get in even more trouble about this.

And, sure enough, Max was glaring at _me _when we got back to the campsite. She, Fang, and Angel had woken up; Nudge and the Gasman were still asleep. My guess: Angel had heard one of us thinking, woken up, and gotten worried that we weren't right there. She woke up Max, who, in turn, woke Fang. (But that's just a theory.)

"Where were you?" she demanded coldly. "You can't run off like that and leave us to be kidnapped or somethi--"

"I was sick," I interrupted angrily, clenching my fists. I was _not _a little kid and did _not _deserve to be yelled at like one. "I had to puke so I ran for the trees. Iggy ended up following to check on me. So _cool _your _freakings _jets, okay?"

Instantly Max deflated. She actually looked concerned when she asked, "Are you okay? Was it something you ate?"

"It's a side effect from my ability," I said tightly. "Bloody nose, headaches, puking, fatigue." _Not to mention frustration with anything and everything that annoys me. . ._

"Three down, one to go," Fang said. I rolled my eyes and went back to where I'd been before my stomach had woken me up.

"Yeah. And if you don't mind, I think I'm feelin' number four's effects now. Can I try to go back to sleep?"

Max watched me warily as first Angel, then Fang fell back into the sweet slumber of innocent mutants. Iggy, I guess, was still on watch, but he didn't try to talk to me again.

And Max kept her eyes on me. What, was she _still _not sure about me? After all this? Well, given the Flyboy attack, I could understand some of her concern. . .

"Are you _sure _you're okay?" she repeated, her voice low.

I sighed. "No I'm not, and yes I'm sure. But it'll pass. It always does."

"Just how many times have you used that ability?"

I had to think about that one. I mean, the first time had been an accident, so I'd had to try it out a few times to be sure I could actually do it. . . "Um, about a dozen times since I figured out I could do it," I said slowly. Each instance flashed through my brain like a three-second-movie clip, showing close-ups of the things I'd been looking at at the time. A road sign, the bedroom through the window of the house four streets away, a squirrel darting across the field as I soared thousands and thousands of feet above it. "Then there was today, so roughly thirteen."

"Oh." Max fell quiet then, retreating to her own thoughts. After a couple of minutes, I remembered I had to ask her something before I fell asleep.

"Max?" I whispered. She looked up at me questioningly. "Do you have any real idea where we're headed?"

She hesitated, then admitted, "No, I don't. For now, it's just north. Why?"

"Well, you know how earlier I said I wanted to go to Salt Lake?" I asked.

She smirked. "Need to check 'fulfill lifelong dream of becoming pop singer' off your list of things to do?"

I smiled back. "Sadly, that will have to wait. For me and Fang." Max giggled. "But I was actually serious. I have a feeling about the place."

"Salt Lake City?" Max said, her face becoming serious. I nodded.

"Look, I know you just met me an' all," I said, "and I know I've never been on the run like this before, but. . .I just have the weirdest feeling about it."

Max stared at me long and hard, thinking. Debating.

"I'm just saying," I added quickly. "We don't have to go. I just thought I should tell you. Y'know, with you bein' _leader _an' all."

"Well, even so, we'll have to check it out," she said slowly. "What kind of feeling is it?"

"It feels like I need to go there for some reason." I toyed with the words, trying to explain the tugging in my chest. "I mean, it's like I can't _not _go, if that makes sense."

Max watched me for a while, as if she was trying to figure out if it did.

Third Person POV

Finally, after all those years, she'd turned up. His one mistake, found. His one mistake, ready to be taken back.

But then she'd escaped. _Again!_

And in _Chicago_, of all places! His home turf. Where it had begun, where it had all gone to hell, and where she'd escaped _yet again_!

The whitecoat's fist clenched. Those stupid hybrids! Even the _Felis concolor_ crosses, Itex's newest pride-and-joy warrior/assassin/hunter pack, had let her slip through the cracks. They'd let her escape from the alley, from the car, _and _from the store. They'd let her fly away. Away to her perfect home life, where she would return to her loving family and recover from the whole thing. Her special ability would kick in and they'd never find her again.

Maybe he was giving the hybrids too hard a time. After all, the kid had escaped from a high-security armored car. That was _moving_, no less. Picked four deadbolts, smashed three MasterLocks, fried both ID-scanners, _and _broken through the electrical firewall wired through the doors. _In less than eight minutes_. When she was _five years old!_ Younger than the oh-so-special Subject Eleven from California. Smarter than that whole group.

And they'd let her escape. . .

The pencil in the whitecoat's hand snapped in two as his frustration and rage overtook him.

How could they have been so _stupid_?

A small _beep _from his phone told him he had a call. He pulled the cell out of his pocket and flipped it open. "This better be good!" he growled.

"Okay, with a temper like _that_, you'll never get anywhere," came the cocky reply. "It's just plain rude, and people tend to dislike rudeness."

The whitecoat closed his eyes in frustration. He took a deep breath. "What is it, Constantine? I'm not in the mood to deal with your crap right now."

Laughter crackled through the phone--he must've been on speaker, so the others heard.

"Come on, Mr. Jay! It's good news! You should be happy we decided to call," another voice said, this one a girl's. Blaze.

"What the hell is it?!"

"Got a lock on her location," a third voice said. Another boy--Swift.

Mr. Jay--whose real name was Julian Newell--inhaled sharply. The kids on the other end laughed again.

"Your slip-up in Chicago messed up her cloaking ability," said a fourth child. Shadow, the youngest of the group. "She's been transmitting the whole way home."

"What? Why didn't I know this? Where is she? Why didn't. . .!"

"Calm _down_, Jay," Constantine said. "I'm sure your little techies are gonna pick up on it at _some _point. But she's out west now. We're about to go pick her up."

"How the hell did you figure out where she was?" Newell demanded. "Con, I swear to God. . ."

"How _dare _you take the Lord's name in vain!" Blaze exclaimed, sounding shocked. Swift and Shadow snickered in the background. There was even a little giggle from the second girl of Con's flock, Avi.

"Anyway, just thought we'd tell ya. Keep you involved, y'know?" Con laughed. "Avi already set a lock on the Salt Lake house, so that's where we'll find her. We'll bring her home in a week or two. See ya, Mr. Jay."

"No, Con, wait!" Newell cried. "Don't hang up, I need to know exactly wher--"

_Click_.

Line was dead.

With a shaking hand Newell deposited the phone on his desk. He sighed deeply and tried to think things through.

First of all, his "slip-up," as they'd called it, hadn't been a total and complete waste. It had messed with the girl's mysterious ability to interfere with tracking devices. When she was calm, safe, and sound, nothing could find her. Put a bug on her? No signal until she came across an upset in her routine. The necklace they'd given to her when she was in the Factory had been a waste after she escaped. Any satellite transmissions that would've allowed the staff of the Factory to track her these past ten years had been lost.

But now she was transmitting again. The chip in her necklace was giving off a signal.

In other words, they could find her again.

Second of all, she'd flown halfway across the country in less than two days. For an injured, teenaged bird-kid, she was tough. She'd grown stronger--and Newell couldn't wait to see just how _much _stronger.

And third of all, Con's team was going to pick her up.

Newell chuckled, shaking his head.

Spark, as they used to call her, had been trained by the best before she'd escaped. Oh, she'd been young, but she'd shown promise. Time had probably transformed her into a formidable opponent, a capable fighter. Even _if _she'd been confined to a life acting human.

But even she couldn't face Con and his team.

They were, after all, her old family.

* * *

and so we meet the anti-flock.

amongthewinged is the genius behind the kid named shadow, who's about 8 years old.

so yeah. . .until next time, peoples.


	10. Chapter 10

happy fourth of july!

if this chapter don't make much sense, it's 'cuz i wrote it at 11 at night while watching _psych _reruns. it was hard to focus.

anyways. . .chapter ten! i got to a double-digit chapter!

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride. or the anti-flock (not really--they all belong to the awesome people who invented them. . .you guys know who you are).

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_**10. thieves**_

Third Person POV--Avi

The thirteen-year-old girl felt a strange tug in her chest. She blinked, brushing a red-tipped strand of black hair out of her blue eyes.

She'd made it already? Geez, they were fast.

"Con?" she called, raising her voice over the wind. "Con!"

The eldest boy, Con--who also had black hair--glanced back at her from his spot at the head of their loose formation. Con was always up front, with Blaze to his right and Swift to his left. They were the three oldest--Con and Blaze were sixteen, and Swift was fourteen. Shadow, who was only eight, flew behind and a little above him. This girl, Avi, was always lagging behind. She didn't like it very much, but she was stuck with these kids.

"What?" Con demanded, sounding annoyed. He knew--just like everybody else--that Avi didn't like them, and found it intensely irritating.

"I-I think she's there," she called, beating her black-tipped wings faster to catch up. "She's calm now, not tense like before."

Con's gray wings started to slow as he glanced to his right, at Blaze. Her blue eyes flashed silver momentarily and her jaw clenched.

"We're close," she said. She smirked coldly. "Can't wait for the reunion."

Con smiled. "Neither can I." He looked at Swift, on his left. The younger boy's talons curled in as he shrugged. He, unlike the others, was less human, more avian. His feet were that of a bird's, with four scaly toes--three in front, one in back. Menacing black talons glinted in the fading light.

"She'll be different," he said quietly.

"Hell yeah she will be!" Shadow cried. It wasn't unusual to hear the "angelic" (as some of the female whitecoats called him) eight-year-old cursing; in fact, it was a regular occurrence. "But it's not like she has a choice. Mr. Jay's been looking for her for ten years. She _has _to come back."

"But it won't be easy," Con warned him, frowning. "She was supposed to be leader before she escaped. She's wicked strong and super powerful."

Avi knew Julian and the other whitecoats had engineered their lost family member specifically, similar to Maximum Ride. She'd been created to act as leader of this select team--Constantine, Blaze, Swift, Shadow, and Avia--to break in and infiltrate other branches of Itex. After the leader--Spark, they'd called her--had escaped, Con had been forced into the position.

The Factory of Chicago had become one of the top DNA-splicers in the world because of this team of info-thieves. Each member had been specially trained to conquer a specific obstacle in any mission.

Constantine was an elite fighter, originally created in Russia but bought by the Factory for a few million when he was about six. He could torture people with his mind. His job was to incapacitate anybody who stood in their way as the team hacked and stole files on experiments.

Blaze was a temperamental "Firebender," as Shadow and Swift called her. Like in that one cartoon. She could create and control flames--her job was to protect the team's back with walls of fire as they stole files and escaped.

Swift was their main hacker. He had a thing for cracking codes and could usually find the stuff the others couldn't find in hard copy. His quick reactions often told them when to bail and leave with what they had. It'd saved their feathers many a time before.

Shadow was the way in and sometimes the distraction. He could charm his way past almost any guard, allowing the others to sneak in to see the files. He could also blur memories of their stay, so it was almost like they were never there. He was the youngest of the team, but a valuable asset.

Avi. . .well, she was a bit different. Itex had kidnapped her on her way home from school when she was ten and grafted wings onto her, similar to that horribly failed Eraser experiment from California. Only Avi wasn't a failure. Like Shadow, she could tamper with people's memories. Only she literally took the memory, so nobody remembered anything. She could also mess with people's emotions, which helped when they had angry scientists chasing them. She could wipe their short-term memory and nudge them in the direction of confusion while the others escaped.

And then there was Spark. The lost family member, the original leader. She controlled atomic movement, picked locks, hacked computers, fought anything in her way. She pretty much did anything. . .or rather, she _would _have done anything, if she hadn't escaped. Mr. Jay said she'd been a little mistreated and had taken it over-the-top in her reaction.

But still, she'd escaped. They hadn't been able to find her for ten freaking years.

When they were little, Mr. Jay had given each of the team a special necklace. It had a tracking chip inside it, giving off a constant signal as to the team's position. Somehow, Spark's hadn't been working until after the incident in Chicago.

As soon as they figured out where she was, Avi had been able to sense Spark's emotions--mainly pain, confusion, and worry. Then, on Con's orders, she'd placed a "lock" on the house they had in Salt Lake. The lock made the intended target feel an incredible longing toward the locked location, so they felt as if they absolutely _had _to go there. And apparently it had worked on Spark, because the odd sense of contentment she was feeling meant the lock had been met.

"Hey, Avi!"

Avi snapped out of her train of thought and looked up at Blaze, whose eyes were flecked with silver again. They did that whenever she was annoyed or angry. Other than that, Blaze looked enough like Avi to be her sister.

"You tired? We're gonna stop for the night."

Avi nodded absently, casting her eyes to the forest below. The boys were already circling a reasonable spot--Con's black-and-gray wings, Swift's brown eagle's wings, Shadow's pale gray wings with the white spots.

It was funny--the kids all did kinda look like each other, despite the fact they'd all been taken from different families.

Con, Blaze, and Avi all had black hair. Swift and Shadow were blond, as was Spark (or so she'd been told). Blaze and Avi had the same blue eyes, the same color red in their hair that dyed a streak in Blaze's spikes and the tips of Avi's tresses. Shadow's eyes were brown, apparently like Spark's. Swift and Con had gray eyes. If she counted Spark, Avi realized three of them had gray in their feathers, two had brown, and two had white spots. Only Blaze's wings stood out--they were kinda orange, fading to red at the tips.

Traits of thieves, she guessed.

Spark POV

Surprisingly, Salt Lake is salty. So I figured out when I dived headfirst into the lake.

But first, let's walk the crime scene.

A few days after telling Max about my "feeling" about it, we'd met up with aforementioned lake about three o' clock in the afternoon. We laid low until darkness fell, and then Max dragged me and Fang out to the water.

So now we're at the present. It was a short walk.

"Salt Lake," Max said, putting her hands on her hips as she, Fang and I gazed down at the pocket of saltwater. She looked up at me. "What now?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I've got a feeling that we should be here."

I know, I know, I was _trying _to sound all cool and laid back about it, but in reality, I was jumpier than an ADD kid on Pixy Stik. We hadn't swung by the city at all; my main focus had been the lake itself, the buildings immediately surrounding it.

"A _feeling_." Fang's obvious skepticism made me clench my fists.

"Screw it," I said. I started to dive.

"Spark!" Max shouted. "What are you _doing_?"

"Checking it out!" I yelled back. I rocketed down for a shore, dropping my shoes, socks, and sweatshirt down on a rock before shooting out over the surface of the water.

"You're insane!" Fang called. I barely heard him as I folded my wings and streamlined down into the lake.

As always, I held my breath first and closed my eyes. Then I relaxed a bit and felt my gills open up.

Yes, _gills_. Last summer my sister "accidentally" pushed me off the fishing boat we were renting and I realized I could still breathe while under the water. That's the kicks of multi-animal DNA, I guess.

I looked around under the water, but I couldn't see very far. It was kinda dark, and the constant tickle of salt on my eyes didn't help none either. I went deeper down, barely saw a glow somewhere down to my right and was just starting to dive for it when I heard muffled splashes and was being yanked back up onto the surface.

I thrashed, coughing and spluttering, for in my surprise I'd actually inhaled water without it passing through my gills.

"Let go, let go!" I said, kicking my feet uselessly as Max and Fang dragged me upward. "I thought I saw something!"

"You were down there ten minutes!" Max shouted at me. "What were you _thinking_?!"

"I was _thinking _about that stupid neon glow at the bottom of the lake! Let _go_ of me!" I finally twisted out of their grip, my wings opening so I could hover, shivering and glaring at Max and Fang.

"What is the _matter _with you?" I demanded. "I was just fine!"

"You would've passed out if we hadn't grabbed you," Fang said. "You're such an idiot!"

"I wasn't passing out!" I argued. "I was fine! Look, we need to go back to camp, get Angel, and. . ."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Max said, holding up her hands. "Why do we need Angel?"

"So she and I can dive down there and see what's up with the lake!" I shouted. "There was something glowing down there, I saw it!"

Max blinked, suddenly seeming to get something. She barely glanced at Fang before asking me, "Can you. . .breathe underwater?"

"_Yes!_" I cried exasperatedly. "How can you not understand that?"

"Well, I. . .I didn't think. . ."

"What? That I'd have them? I thought I told you everything!"

Fang rolled his eyes. "Look, this is getting us nowhere. What did you see down there?"

I took a breath, trying not to shiver in my wet clothes. (Not my brightest idea, diving into a lake fully clothed. _Definitely _brighter than the time I lit a home-made bottle rocket via the stove in my uncle's kitchen. Yeah, that wasn't too pretty. . .)

"Um, not much, 'cuz it was dark, but there was a weird glow. I _tried _to go check it out but then _you _guys had to pull me out like stupid little mutant thieves."

"Weird glow," Max repeated. I crossed my arms, pressing them tightly against my chest. It was _cold_, dude! I mean, I knew how to block cold--stupid fifteen-minute-recesses out in the Creekside courtyard for three years with only a thin jacket for shelter against the stupid Colorado wind had toughened me out. I remembered my sweatshirt sprawled over a rock on the shore and wished I could go get it.

"Yes. Like a Vegas casino sign. Now, either I go get my sweatshirt or you let me go under and check it out."

Max and Fang glanced at each other.

"Well?"

"Let's go back," Max said dubiously. "We have to tell the kids about it before we go off investigating."

"Max and I have gills too," Fang added. "We'll all look into it."

"Well, all right then. Can we go now? I'm freezing my feathers off."

"_You're _the one who dove headfirst into the lake at midnight," Max pointed out, smirking.

"I resent that," I replied, scanning the shore for where I'd dumped my stuff. "Because technically, it's only eleven fifty-two. And you were kinda waiting for me to do something."

"Yeah, but we didn't expect _that_," Fang muttered.

"But it's what you got." I flapped my wings extra-hard and sent water droplets fluttering over him. Max giggled and I beamed at a fairly-pissed-off Fang.

Sometimes it's fun to annoy people. Just for the heck of it, y'know?

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um, if it seemed like the part about the anti-flock was confusing or anything, i'm sorry. like i said up top, 'twas hard to write while watching _psych_ at the same time. ah well.

special request of the creators of the anti-flock: did that part seem okay? did i nail personalities/looks and whatknot? PM and tell me what i got right/wrong.


	11. Chapter 11

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

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_**11. TLC: torture, lightning, capture**_

Let me just say: when you've got nothing to do all day but wait 'til night so you can go investigate a weird glow at the bottom of a lake, time goes reeeeaaaaaalllllllllly slow. Four e's, six a's, ten l's.

And no offense to Max and the flock, but they don't really fly on the wild side when it comes to passing time. Oh, sure, being tracked by evil scientists and wolf-like robots and being on the run all the time? Life's exciting, I'm sure. But when they're forced to be somewhat normal. . .

Iggy and the Gasman were huddled together, discussing some kind of bomb that I was too lazy to get up and go see.

Nudge and Angel were playing Mancala with rocks in the dirt. Total was watching them. I would ask to play against the winner, but I've figured out how to win almost every time, even if I don't go first, so it would get old.

Fang was leaning against a tree, a beat-up laptop across his knees.

Max was apparently on watch.

And me? Well, let's see. First I'd taken a glance at my fellow bird-kids, then quizzed myself on what they were wearing. Bonus points if I remembered how many holes they had in their jeans. Then I'd taken to watching clouds go by. After that made my head hurt, I turned to picking out the bottom hems of my jeans with a pocketknife until no thread remained*****. And most recently, I took apart my watch and put it back together again, only with the hour hand acting as the second hand, the second hand acting as the minute hand, and the minute hand acting as the hour hand.

But now I was bored again. I flicked my pocketknife open and closed, staring absently at an odd hair sticking straight out from Total's head. After it finally fluttered free in a stray breeze, I blinked.

"If this is what we're gonna do until night, I will seriously have to shoot something," I mumbled.

But it had been so quiet before that everybody looked at me. I shifted. "What? I'm bored."

"Find something to do," Max said absently, turning her back to scan the trees again.

"Oh, gee, thanks. I hadn't thought of that, actually. _Find something_. Hm, let's see. . .oh, I know! Maybe I'll count to a million in French," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes. "Oh, wait. . .I can't count that high in a foreign language. _Crap_! I was so excited about it, too!"

Giggles and snickers creeped throughout the clearing, making Max sigh. She turned back to me, a long-suffering look in her eyes. "Look, Spark, I'm sorry we're not the life of the party, but. . ."

"Who said anything about a party?" I asked, sounding surprised. "This is a suck-fest of total boredom. No offense."

"Yeah, 'cuz saying 'no offense' makes it better," she sneered.

"Personally, I think it does," I tried to say, but she overrode me.

"Spark, I don't think you get it!" Max said explosively. "We have no idea what's gonna happen tonight! We might get kidnapped or killed or worse! And you don't get to go home if it ends! You're not going to be seeing your family again anytime soon! It'll just be more of this, this running and flying and fighting and escaping. So I'm _sorry _that you're _bored_, really, but. . ."

"_Max!_" I shouted, shutting her up. I'd been trying to cut in more politely during her little rant, but I just got impatient. "I _know _that. I'm trying to get by _without_ having to think about it. Somehow, _you _don't seem to get that_ I'm _not used this kinda stuff. So _I'm _sorry if I'm annoying you, or if you don't like me, but you have to remember that I ran into you by _accident_. I never intended to meet anybody like me out here, outside the labs. After I was adopted, I never wanted to run away or fear for my life ever again. I will freaking _explode _if I keep thinking about it, so you'll _forgive _me for being a little _tense!_"

Thunder roared, literally shaking the leaves on the trees. A second later, an image flashed behind my eyes--a small black boy chasing an orange tabby cat around the front yard of a run-down house.

The lightning had struck somewhere in that area. If I was lucky, it didn't hit the kid, his cat, or his home.

"Oh, God _damn _it!" I slammed my fists into the trunk of the tree I was leaning against, a headache flashing through my skull at an alarming rate. I drew my knees up and crossed my arms over them, ducking my head to hide my face. "God _damn _it," I repeated, whispering this time.

"That was _you_?" Max whispered, sounding like she didn't want to believe it.

"_Yes_, it was _me_," I snapped bitterly, lifting my head. It was pounding now, hurting worse than it had in a long time. I uncrossed my arms so I could hold my head, my fingers twisting themselves in my hair. "And God, I haven't done that in forever, my head's _killing _me!"

After a minute or so, a small, tentative hand touched my arm. I glanced up and saw it was Angel. She smiled shyly at me.

"I don't think you meant to do it on purpose," she said. "You just got mad, right?"

I sighed. "Yeah. But that's what they all say."

"Who're _they_?" Max asked warily.

"Um, my parents, my sister. . .and some of the scientists, when I was little. Despite the fact they tortured me until I 'accidentally' did it." I rolled my eyes and leaned my head back against the trunk of the tree.

"They tortured you?" Fang repeated.

"Did I not mention it?"

"Uh, no," Iggy said slowly. "What'd they do to you?"

"Lots of stuff," I mumbled. "Electric shock, whipping, burning, hitting. . ."

"Oh my God!" Nudge exclaimed, tears springing to her eyes. "That's horrible!"

"Well, yeah. After they figured out I could do the lightning thing, they tried asking, but I said no, so they had to force me."

"Wow," the Gasman muttered. "That's harsh."

_Huh, no shit._

I saw them exchange worried looks, but after that, they pretty much left me alone. The rest of the painstakingly slow and boring day dragged on in near-silence. I concentrated on ignoring my headache and the occassional whispers that drifted past my ears.

And finally, _finally_, it was late enough to leave. Dressed in ratty old clothes (since nobody had bathing suits or anything--on the run, people, hello!), we flew out to the shore of Salt Lake.

As it turned out, only Max, Fang, and Angel had gills. The others hadn't gotten them yet. And Max didn't want Angel down deep in the lake in case something bad happened, so it was just me and the co-leaders of the flock. Joy!

So, after some wading and getting used to the absolutely _freezing _water, we dove under and started swimming.

It was a long, silent trip out to the middle of the lake, where I'd first gone down last night. We sank a little deeper and spent a few minutes of mindless searching before Fang saw the glow that had caught my attention previously. We dove toward it.

The deeper we went, the clearer I could see: the weird blue glow came from two giant floodlights. Odd. . .yet odder still was the ominously dark hole between them. Like, ooh, so dark and scary. I'm going to turn around and so _not _check it out.

Psych! (Yep, I'm a '90s kid.)

And, even more odd than the creepy hole were the dark figures swimming around in the blue floodlights. I could make out human-like figures, but there was something off about them. Hm, I don't know, maybe it was the fact that they were swimming at the bottom of Salt Lake, or the fact that they didn't seem to have oxygen tanks, or the fact that they seemed to have giant fish tails instead of legs.

Max, Fang and I touched down on the silty bottom of the lake, behind a rather large rock formation to block us from the view of the fish-people. Max held out her hands in a "what now?" gesture. I shrugged, then questioningly pointed to the creepy cave-like hole.

Fang shook his head. He pointed at the floodlights, and after I squinted, I realized there was a weird chain-link cage thing encasing a forty-foot radius around the cave, the floodlights, and the fish-people.

_Well, screw, _I thought. As the three of us peered over the edge of the rock at the odd little scene before us, I tapped my fingers nervously on the rock. We were _that close _to some human-fish hybrids obviously generated by Itex (Max and Fang and Iggy had told me everything they knew about the giant corporation that funded all the labs and stuff). We were _that close _to some kind of underground facility that housed said hybrids. And we had no way of getting in or finding out what it was or anything. It sucked.

Well, I should correct those last two statements. We had no way of getting in until I was kidnapped. And then it sucked worse.

In case you've ever wondered, it _is_ possible to yelp and/or jump in surprise whilst underwater. Especially when strong, wiry arms have suddenly grabbed you around the waist.

_Mother f*ck! _I thought in anger, instinctively squirming, kicking my feet and pushing against the pale arms. It all epically failed, though, because then I was being pulled through the water. Really, _really _fast.

"Hey! _Hey!_" I shouted, trying to get Max and Fang's attention. "Turn _around_, you freaks!"

Max glanced back and did a double-take. Alarm crossed her face and she tapped Fang's shoulder before swimming after me.

I struggled yet again and glanced back at my attacker. It was a kid my own age, with silvery-blue hair, dark blue eyes, and pale skin. I could only assume the shiny silver stuff armoring his neck and torso were by-products of the fish DNA in his blood. I glanced down and saw he had a giant fish tail instead of legs.

I was being kidnapped by one of the freaking _mermaids!_

Okay, _fine_, if you want to get _technical_, this one was a mer_man_, okay? Happy now? Can I get on with my kidnapping?

I dragged my fingernails across his arms, trying to cause enough pain for him to loosen his hold enough to let me go. I felt him flinch, but he wouldn't weaken. His powerful tail beat the water faster and away we shot, further from Max and Fang, who were falling behind.

"Let _go _of me!" I shouted, punching everywhere I could reach. "What are you _doing_? Where are you taking me?"

Fish-Boy glanced down at me but didn't answer. Maybe he couldn't talk. Or maybe he was just being a prick.

I leaned toward the second option, 'cuz as we neared the chain-link cage by the floodlights, a bunch of the other fish people gathered around an entrance we'd failed to see. They pulled up a section of the cage and my captor dragged me through. I faintly registered that the fish people all had scales in shades of silver-blue or silver-green. Giant fish tails, fins on their hips and backs, and smooth scales covering everything but their arms and faces.

Fish-Boy dragged me through the underwater tunnel between the neon-blue floodlights, leaving most of the other fish-people behind. It seemed like an hour had passed before we finally broke surface, in some kind of cavern that had an oddly-placed wooden door set in the back wall.

On the cavern floor, a pretty sight was awaiting me in the form of five tall, skinny kids ranging from eight to sixteen.

The one at the front, a boy with jet black hair and steely gray eyes, watched as the fish boy pushed me toward the stone ledge a few feet before him. I instinctively curled my hands around the edge, shaking water from my hair and coughing from the sudden change of gills to normal breathing.

"Thanks, Dylan," a voice said. I glanced back to see Fish-Boy nod curtly before diving off, his silvery tail splashing water into my face as he went.

_That stupid little. . .!_

"Ow! Son of a bitch!"

A boot had come down on my fingers. Hard. I tried to pull them free, but the foot inside the boot just pressed down, making me wince. I looked up.

The boy with black hair tilted his head as he looked down at me, smirking.

"Hi, Spark," he said, chillingly sweet. "Remember me?"

As I stared at him, I got this weird feeling that I _did_ remember. For a second, I saw a younger image of his face superimposed through my eyes. I shook my head and the vision went away.

"For some reason. . .ah. . .my memory has punked out on me," I said tightly. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered that he'd called me _Spark_, which was weird considering the fact that I'd only made that up when I met Max. "Perhaps it's because you're standing on my _fingers_, you prick! Get off!"

The other boot came around the side of my head and I felt another flash of pain before blacking out.

* * *

ah, my tortured little bird-kid. i really shouldn't be so mean to her. . .

and did you know "dove" and "dived" are both correct for the past tense of "dive"? i didn't until today.

oh, and the reason for the *** **thingy up at the beginning: i actually do that when i'm bored. especially during _law and order _reruns.

but enough of that. spark has encountered the anti-flock! how awesome is that? (unless awesome isn't the right word. . .)


	12. Chapter 12

intensity ensues. that's all i really have to say.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

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_**12. stupid goddamn memories**_

_Bright lights were burning through my eyelids, reminding me that I couldn't block it out, that I couldn't ignore it, that I couldn't run away from it. . ._

_Another stinging _crack!_ and another flash of pain. . .I arched my back away from the whip, screaming. I felt the burn of twenty-four other marks crisscrossing my wings and back, felt the trickle of blood that ran from each and every welt. . ._

_Then a rough, angry voice. "Come on! Just do it!" When I only whimpered in return, the whitecoat gave me another crack of the whip. "If you would learn to cooperate, we wouldn't have to do this anymore!"_

No, no, just stop, please! _I thought. I probably mumbled it out loud, too. Probably sounded like I was refusing the so-called offer once again. "No. . .no. . ."_

_Another crack, another flash._

_I don't know how long it went on. Minutes? Hours?. . .Days? I lost sense of time. I was just hurting so much. . ._

_Another voice. Female this time. And not angry--coldly indifferent._

_"How long?"_

How long what? _I thought. How long had I been like this? How long had they been whipping me? How long had I lasted?_

_"A while."_

_"And it still hasn't released?" She sounded surprised and annoyed at the same time._

Released _is what they called it when I finally lost it and _discharged_. When I lost the battle of my own will and let all that anger and pain rush through my body and out into the world to create who knew how hellish a storm. . ._

_"No, Director. It's grown stronger."_

_"Then _you _grow stronger. Do whatever it takes to release."_

_"Yes, Director." The sound of heels on a tiled floor, of a door opening._

_Oh, God, no. . .I remembered this, I knew what was gonna happen once that door closed. . .No! Stay inside, tell him what to do! Hearing about it isn't half as bad as actually feeling it! Please, stay, just this one ti--_

Click_._

_NO!_

I jerked and opened my eyes, convinced I was about to feel the burn of the dry ice on my back. I looked around, panicked, searching for that whitecoat, searching for that table where I was restrained, searching for that freezer in the corner. . .I closed my eyes and rested my head back down in relief when I found none of those things.

Dry ice. That's what always got me in the end. After a couple minutes of it burning into the wounds on my back, I released and discharged. It felt like being electrocuted, a feeling that started in the heart and radiated throughout the whole body in a rapid-acting rush. So much anger, hate, pain, suffering, all concentrated into that weird limb-waking-up-after-falling-asleep feeling that just kept growing and growing until I just couldn't take it and my heart started to pound, faster and faster, each beat burning a hole in my chest until suddenly. . .

Until, suddenly, it all stopped. The burning tingle, the hyperventilating, the pounding heart. It all just calmed down until I was drained of all emotion, of all sense, of. . .everything.

And then, no matter how distant the strike of lightning, no matter how far the rain that was suddenly pelting holes through leaves, I heard the rolling sound of thunder.

A room flashed through my mind and I realized it was what I'd seen when I woke. My eyes flew open again and I sat up straight, heart pounding, breath coming in short hisses.

I was sitting on a gold-colored couch. Coffee table in front of me, old _TV Guide_ and _Sports Illustrated _magazines stacked on its surface. Big-screen TV against the wall, three angel figurines set on top of it. Dog crate tucked in the corner, rug folded inside, dusty chess set and leafy plant on the roof. Fireplace. Weird butler-shaped wine-holder thing. Orangish-brown side-table with the double-bulb lamp that was always one light short. Then, behind me, the large window that looked out into the backyard.

I glanced right, where the kitchen would be if. . ._aw, no, oh, no! _

_I was home_.

The kitchen table held a vase of roses that were wilting considerably. Dead petals littered the light yellowish wood. And beyond the table was the island counter, with its bowl of fruit, under the pots and pans that hung from the ceiling.

_No, no, no. . .This can't be happening, I can't be home, I can't be home. . ._

But all the signs pointed to just that, my being home. I mean, I could even read the inside of the Father's Day card I'd made last-minute for my dad. It had my own freaking signature, for crying out loud!

And there, just on the counter by the fridge, my mom's purse. I craned my neck and saw a bit of red--her cell phone.

_No, no, no, no. . .I can't be home, I just can't. . .I. . .I. . .wait. . ._

I narrowed my eyes.

It was a trick. It was all a trick.

I mean, there was no way. No effing way. I started to calm down a little when I started noticing the little things that were wrong. I mean, total credit to whoever had built this place, but when you deal with OCD perfectionists who just happen to have photographic memory. . .

First of all, the little red light on the TiVo box wasn't on. And, gauging from the sun that shone through the window behind me, _Law and Order _should've been recording. _Special Victims Unit_ reruns, to be precise.

Second of all, everything looked totally and completely clean. Yeah, _major _flaw. Much to my mother's dismay, the house was always in some matter of untidiness. Whether it was the dog hair in the carpet or the random possessions lying around or the mysterious stains that nobody knew the origin of, _it was always messy_. This place was totally clean. No dust, no dog hair, no Gameboy games or spare change or bouncy balls or dog toys scattered about. . .

And, third of all, I had weird cuffs on my hands and feet. Like, black-and-silver bracelets with little flashing blue lights that fairly creeped me out.

Huh. Maybe I should've mentioned that first.

Suddenly I heard footsteps.

Down the stairs came a kid, about my age. I blinked and recognized him as the one who'd stepped on my hands in that cave. Jet black hair, cold gray eyes, super-pale skin. He was in dark jeans and a black t-shirt.

Behind him, a girl, also in the mid-teens. Her hair was black too, but there was a bright red streak running through it. Her eyes were sky blue, flecked with silver. Her jeans were black, ripped in one knee, and her shirt was a dark navy blue with silver writing on it. I didn't care to read what it said.

"Well, hello!" I said brightly, waving. "Fancy meetin' you here. How's it goin'?"

The silver in the girl's eyes glowed as the boy rolled his eyes. He sat down on the edge of the couch while she remained standing, crossing her arms and glaring at me.

"Oh, and in case you were wondering, no, I still don't really remember you," I said to the boy. I sighed. "Shame, really. I thought we could be friends!"

He casually reached into his pocket and pulled out a remote. He pressed a button and my wrists and ankles shot together, the bracelets suddenly magnetized.

"Hey, what the. . ." I started, pulling on the bindings. No dice. Couldn't budge 'em.

"Just shut up," the boy snapped. "I don't have time for your stupid sarcasm."

"There's _always _time for sarcasm," I replied sweetly.

"Con. . .!" the girl growled, clenching her fists and taking a step toward me.

"Easy, Blaze," the boy--Con--said warningly, barring her way with his arm. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Ooh, burn from the boss. I'm guessing you're the loyal sidekick?" I asked Blaze.

The girl's eyes burned silver and she batted Con's arm away. Her fist came up faster than I could duck or block. Bitch punched me in the face!

Blood spurted from my nose--it didn't break, but I'd have a wicked black eye.

I heard Con snap, "See, that qualifies as stupid!"

"_Ow_!" I yelped, bringing my hands up to my face. "What's your _problem_?"

I squinted up at Blaze, who was being pulled back out of reach by a fairly angry-looking Con. Blood dripped through my hands and onto the gold-colored couch. Mom would've killed me if we were really at my house, really destroying her furniture.

"Oh, come on!" Blaze protested, jerking her arm from Con's grip. "Tell me you didn't want to! She's just. . .so. . .ugh!"

"You can't blame her!" said Con angrily. "Jay said she's probably blocked us out!"n

"Well, I don't know who Jay is," I interjected thickly, stemming the flow of blood with my sleeve, "but I'm sure I'll hate him as much as I'm hating you right now."

"_Sorry_," Blaze sneered. "But I have some unresolved resentment toward you."

"Why, because I'm the nearest living person?"

Blaze made an indignant little noise and sat on the furthest edge of the coffee table. "I can't believe you!"

"Thanks. I pride myself on being unbelieveable. Like Santa Claus! Ow." I switched sleeves when the first started getting too blood-soaked. I sniffed and shuddered as blood dripped onto the beige carpet. Good thing I wasn't really home. I would _hate _to have to clean that without my mother's knowledge.

Now, if you're more familiar with Max's way of doing things, you're probably wondering why I haven't beat these kids up and found a way out yet. Well, I _did _think about it, I really did, but truth was, I couldn't figure out how to do it. First of all, I couldn't really move with ease with my jacked-up nose and my bound feet. Plus, I couldn't be sure if I could kick out the back window and fly away, or if I could just run through the front door, or what.

"Okay. Look, Spark," Con began, and I rolled my eyes.

"Why are you calling me that? That's not my name!"

Con smirked. "Uh, actually, it is. It's what we called you when you still lived with us in the Factory."

"Uh. . ._huh_," I said slowly. "You just said a bunch of stuff I didn't get. Do you realize that?"

"Mr. Jay said you probably blocked us out," Blaze said tensely. "Given the tiny incident of abuse."

"Tiny. Incident. Of. Abuse?" I repeated. "Do you know what they _did _to me in those hellholes?!"

"They shocked you. Once. You over-reacted," Con said, shrugging. "Not our problem. We're just supposed to get you to remember us so we can all go home."

I clenched my fists with difficulty. I could practically hear the electricity crackle in my hair.

"Once. _Once?_ They _tortured _me! _Thousands _of times! Electric shock, whipping, burning, starvation, ice baths, shots, cuts, punches, kicks, pulling feathers, breaking my _wing_!"

Flashes of pain and snatches of memories reeled through my brain as I listed each thing those freaks ever did to me. I started feeling that tension build up inside, like yesterday, when I was arguing with Max. I was in danger of discharging again.

Blaze and Con exchanged wary looks as I paused, taking shaky breaths. I stared at them.

"Don't tell me they treated you _nicely_? You lucky little _bastards!_" I slammed my magnetized wrists against the arm-rest of the couch. There was a _thunk_ and a _crick_. I nudged the arm-rest with my elbow and realized I'd broken it away from the rest of the couch almost completely. It just pissed me off even more.

"I _hate _this! All of it! I just. . .I just. . ._God damn it all to hell!!!"_

Just like yesterday, an image flashed behind my eyes. A girl, climbing a tree in a wide, spacious field. The lightning would hit somewhere in that vicinity.

"Spark! Calm down!" Con yelled as the room shook with thunder.

"No!! I will not _calm down_! I have no f*cking reason to be _calm!!_" I shouted back, kicking the coffee table in fury. The wooden knob on the draw broke as the table slid three feet.

The room suddenly flickered, like the lights were faulty. Then my living room became a dingy gray cell. I was sitting on a bunk, Con on the edge of it and Blaze on the end of the bench that had once been a coffee table. Behind her, where the TV had been, was a big mirror. Instinctively I knew it was a one-way dealy, the kind cops use in interrogation rooms. To the left of it was a door.

"Whoa," Blaze mumbled, looking around. "She broke the simulation system."

"That's the kinda thing Jay warned us about," Con said to Blaze in a quiet voice. "Do you get it now?"

"I'm sorry my memory isn't freakishly good. I only remember some of the stuff that happened back then. What Jay taught us."

I took deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself down. My head was hurting again. "Who the hell is this Jay person you keep talking about?" I asked tightly.

"Rack your mind. You'll remember," Con said carefully.

"Just tell me who the hell he is before I kick you where it hurts!" I snapped, but already I was thinking back. Sifting through the torture sessions, the testings, the long rides between labs. . .

. . .Arriving at the quiet days, when I wasn't always afraid, when I wasn't in pain. Brightly-lit rooms painted in a variety of colors, each set up like a child's playroom. There were computers in each corner, shelves of picture books and instruction manuals along the walls, chests of gadgets and toys.

Three small children. Two with black hair, one with blond. Two boys and a girl.

The girl had a thin streak of pink in her hair, in the same spot Blaze had red.

The black-haired boy had bright gray eyes and sharp features, much like the Con of today.

The blond boy was younger than the other two, but sticking out from the bottoms of his jeans were hawk talons. A dim memory of the cave came to my mind, focusing on one of the kids behind Con--a boy with talons.

A man. An adult, brunette with pale green eyes and a big bushy mustache, like Stottlemeyer from _Monk_. He carried a clipboard and wore a white coat. The mysterious Jay person Con and Blaze kept referencing?

Con, Blaze, the taloned kid, and the green-eyed whitecoat, among the memories that didn't cause me pain.

Con had asked me if I remembered him. Told me I'd remember Jay if I thought about it.

Was there actually something behind all this confusion and pain?

* * *

oh: i'll be on vacation next week, so i won't be able to update for a while. hopefully this chapter can hold you over until then.

and i really hope i got blaze and con's personalities right. tell me if i didn't!

peace!


	13. Chapter 13

i'm back from vacation! woo!

and it appears my flying raccoon of inspiration was hiding out in the mountains. i got wicked ideas for the next few chapters.

but i think you've waited long enough to read this. so i'll just stop talking.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**13. plans**_

Max POV

"This sucks," I mumbled, staring at a rock twenty feet below.

"I think we established that back when they took her," Fang whispered back.

The flock and I were in the various trees above the clearing we'd made our camp this morning. Only Fang, Iggy and I were awake--the others had fallen asleep a while ago.

It was barely three hours after Spark had been kidnapped.

I still could not _believe _how stupid I'd been. I hadn't noticed the fish-guy sneaking up on us until he'd taken Spark from right next to me. And even then, I hadn't been fast enough to catch them. He'd dragged her through the underwater tunnel and out of sight. And there was nothing I could do.

Whoever said "out of sight, out of mind" was an idiot. Spark was all I could think about.

"Stop beating yourself up. We just need to regroup and come up with a plan," Fang told me.

"Because there's always a plan," Iggy threw in, slightly sarcastic.

"What can we do?" I snapped. "There are like ten buildings around that part of the lake. She could be in any one of them!"

"Oh, so we just give up?" asked Iggy snidely.

I stared at him. "What is your _problem_? I'm just stating the facts! Ten buildings, one kid! It'll take a while to narrow down our raid-zone!"

Iggy rolled his eyes. "So? No reason to whine about it. We just go and scope out what we can and try to find her! Simple as that!"

"It's not that easy!"

"Why not?"

"Because. . .because. . ." I sputtered.

"Because you're not sure if you want to find her?" Fang supplied quietly.

I glared down at him. "Of course I want to find her! Why wouldn't I?"

"You haven't exactly been nice to her," Iggy said.

"Excuse me?" I said, a little stung. "I brought her to my mom to get her wing fixed!"

"It was out of her way," said Fang. "She said she'd rather go home, like, a million times."

"But. . .I. . .I offered to take her home after!" I insisted. "And she saw those Flyboys coming way before we did!"

"She didn't want an escort. And she passed out trying to see them," Iggy pointed out. "You've been dragging her around and fighting with her ever since we met her."

"I. . ." I couldn't think of anything else to say. They just kept shooting me down.

But, as much as I hated to admit, they were right.

I _had _been dragging her around, forcing her to come with us after the Flyboy attack. And I _did _argue with her. A lot. Pretty much every day. But in my defense, she'd done some crazy stuff. Stuff that had attracted attention. Attention we _did not _need. Like the thing in the diner, where she'd just frozen in the middle of the aisle. And in front of the secondhand clothing place, with the survey kids. People had stared at us, probably wondered who we were, definitely wondered why we were there.

And just this morning, about being bored. We were on the run! Who cares if anybody's _bored_? You just care that you're alive and safe. Period.

"Max, it doesn't matter," Fang said, catching my attention again. I looked down at where he was, stretched out on a branch below mine. He uncrossed his long legs and sat up straighter, better to look at me. "All we need to do is find her. Right?"

I took a deep breath. "Right. Nobody deserves to be in a cage."

Iggy broke off a small twig from the tree and started rolling it through his fingers. "So what do we do, Max?"

My wings itched to open and carry me back to the lake. I wanted to look in every window of every building, I wanted to find out where Spark could possibly be. But I couldn't just leave the kids unguarded, and God knows they needed at least one good night's sleep. One of us _could _stay behind, but I knew I couldn't stand just waiting and wondering. Something told me Fang and Iggy wouldn't take the babysitter job too well either.

I sighed. "I guess we wait till morning," I said, "and go see what those places are."

"What they are during the day," Fang corrected darkly.

Spark POV

"Wake up."

Sharp pain coursed through my head and I woke with a start. I rose my still-bound hands to rub the spot Con had hit.

"Some manners, please?" I grumbled, sitting up. Con and Blaze were back in the cell, sitting on the bench, which they'd pushed to the wall opposite my uncomfortable little bunk.

I don't know how long it'd been since I'd popped up in that underwater cave, but it was definitely too long. Con and Blaze had left for a while--during which I dozed on and off--before coming back with a fresh routine.

"How much do you remember?" Con asked bluntly. "About us."

"Hm." I scratched my head and pretended to think. "Very little. Almost nothing, actually. Sorry!" I beamed, which made Blaze's eyes go silver. I'd figured out that they tend to do that when she'd particularly frustrated.

They turned silver a lot when I was around.

Blaze pulled a little remote control out of her pocket. She waved it so I could see the three primary-colored buttons.

"See this?" she asked.

"No."

Blaze frowned. "The blue one magnetizes your handcuffs."

"How nice."

"The yellow one de-magnetizes them."

"Good to know."

Blaze's hand visibly tensed. "You don't want to know what the red one does."

"Aw, now I'm curious. You _have _to tell me now!"

Blaze's knuckles whitened around the controller. Her thumb twitched toward the red button.

"If you cooperate, we won't have to resort to finding out what the red button does," Con said calmly, gently removing the remote from Blaze's death grip on it. He held it loosely in his hand, rubbing a finger over the surface of the red button thoughtfully. "Understand?"

"Sadly, no," I said dully. This instant-witty-comeback thing was tiring. But it was all I had, so I kept at it. " 'Cooperation' is on the 'rarely-used-word' page of my dictionary."

Con took a long breath through his nose, like he was trying to stay calm. "If you don't cooperate, we'll have to torture you until we find out what we want. And we know some pretty wicked techniques. Trust me."

"Dude. Torture is useless," I said, stretching my arms. I _really _needed to pop my shoulder, but with the way my hands were tied, I couldn't do it. It was starting to annoy me. But not enough to distract my witty comebacks.

"All it does is give you the quickest lie. Anything to make the pain stop. I thought they taught you this in interrogation class. Of course, I have a high tolerance for pain," I added, doing the thing where it looks like I'm talking to myself rather than anybody else. If you're ever a hostage and you've decided to be uncooperative, this annoys your captors a lot. And if that's your goal, I reccommend it.

"So, really, torture is just a waste of time. If anything, it makes the captive even more uncooperative. . ."

"Con? Can I hurt her?" Blaze asked tensely. "_Please_?"

Con handed her the remote and leaned back against the wall, shrugging. "Be my guest."

Blaze smirked and pressed the red button. I tensed, waiting for the pain, but it didn't come. All I felt was a little pressure from the cuffs. Blaze released the button and the pressure slackened.

And that was it.

Let's hear it for malfunctioning torture devices!

"Um, was that supposed to hurt or something?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at her. She set her jaw and slammed the red button again. More tightening, but nothing too uncomfortable. " 'Cuz if that's all you got, I'm even less scared than before. In fact, I'm so relaxed that it's like I'm trapped in a room full of declawed kittens. Oh, wait. . .that is dangerous, I'm allergic to cats. . ."

In a second, Blaze stood and whipped the controller at me. I ducked and it smashed against the wall where my head had been a few seconds before. Smoke curled from her fingertips as she clenched her fists and turned for the door. "I can't do this! I just can't!" she cried in frustration.

What looked like _fire _actually danced around her fists as she stormed out of the room. I internally thanked God that she hadn't used that particular skill (if that was what it was) on me.

"I seem to have pissed her off," I said matter-of-factly, watching the door. "Awesome."

Con stood and glared at me. "You're _really _pissing me off, Spark."

"Thanks, it's a talent. I take a lot of pride in it."

Shaking his head, he turned and went for the door. "I just hope I'm the one who gets to beat some sense into you," he said in a low, monotone voice.

"I hope so too. That way I can see your face when you epically fail at torturing me!" I yelled. The door slammed shut and I breathed a sigh.

Being an uncooperative captive is a lot of work. However, if you do it right, it's kinda fun.

But only if you know they can't hurt you.

Which I still wasn't too sure about.

Third Person POV--Constantine

"Blaze. Blaze!" he called, running to catch her before she could leave the watch room. Shadow, Avi, and Swift had been watching through the one-way glass, but now they'd all turned to watch Blaze incinerate a chair in her fury.

"_Blaze!_" Con caught the girl's arm before she could fling another fireball at the door. "Stop!"

"No!" Blaze snapped, wrenching her arm out of Con's grip. There wasn't a single hint of blue in her eyes anymore. They hadn't done that in a long time.

"I can't do it anymore!" she said shrilly, silvery tears running down her cheeks. "She's not the Spark I remember! I can't deal with her stupid comebacks and her freaking sarcasm and her blank face! She doesn't remember us, Con!! It's hopeless!" Blaze buried her face in her hands and cried.

"Blaze, calm down," Con said quietly, putting his hands on Blaze's shoulders. He ignored the kids' amazed looks--not once had any of them seen Blaze cry. And never had they seen Con so. . .kind. So understanding.

"You're right. She doesn't remember us. But we remember her, right?"

No reaction. Unless crying harder was considered a response.

"You, me, and Swift all remember what it was like before she ran away. We had fun and the coats were nice to us and we didn't have to train until we collapsed. Right?"

Blaze started to quiet down, but she didn't say anything.

"She was supposed to be our leader. They tried to toughen her up, but she freaked out and ran, leaving us behind. The coats took it out on us."

She sniffed and brushed away silver tears with her sleeve. Inside, Con was relieved. He _hated _having to deal with too much emotion.

"No matter how mad we are at her, we have to bottle it up until we get her to remember us. _Then _we can kick her ass for ditching us ten years ago."

"I can't wait that long," Blaze mumbled. "I'll backfire."

Con frowned. _Backfire _was what they called it when Blaze completely lost it and basically turned into a flaming tower of rage. Everything in a ten-foot radius caught on fire and she usually burned herself, too. Last time she'd done that, the whole southern sector of the Factory had burned down. Twenty hybrids were still undergoing treatment, two years later.

"Then we'll do it now," he said decisively. "We'll each take an hour or so to do whatever the hell it takes to let out any anger or resentment. Okay?"

Blaze sniffed again. "Fine."

Con looked back, where Avi, Swift, and Shadow had remained silent and watchful. "You guys in?" he asked.

Swift nodded.

"Yeah!" Shadow exclaimed.

Avi muttered, "Okay."

"Good. I'll go first." Con spun on his heel and pushed open the door of Spark's interrogation room.

* * *

mwa ha ha. each member of the anti-flock gets a crack at the lost member. and they'll each have their own chapter to do so!

this way, we'll get to see more sides of the anti-flock.

no more hints!

and if you have any criticism whatsoever, _tell me_. i keep waiting for somebody to tell me i suck or i got something wrong or something. seriously! even if you're sarcastically joking. i can't be _that _good of a writer.


	14. Chapter 14

i get so goofily happy when i read my reviews. thanks, guys.

special thanks to:

)(*wings*)(, for complimenting my sarcasm. it's my native language. and my favorite. most people get tired of it, but not you, apparently. thank you.

11Twilightcrazy, for coming up with (and liking my portrayal of) blaze. i was kinda scared you'd freak out about her turning all emotional. i wasn't sure if that's what you thought she was like.

Surreptitiously Anonymous, for threatening me with assassins if i ever stop writing this. i promise i'll drag it out as long as i can.

and i have a special request to blackberry01: tell me about every little thing you think is wrong with con in this chapter. if anything _is _wrong, that is.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride

* * *

_**14. lead**_

The door snapped shut and Con shut his eyes, taking a breath. Okay. Time to save face.

He didn't know what had made him so understanding. Maybe because. . .well, he understood what Blaze was probably feeling. Seeing Spark again had caused all those old memories to come to the surface.

"Aw, is Blaze not comin' back?" Spark's voice whined. "Darn! Just when I thought we were gettin' along!"

Con clenched his fist and Spark yelped.

"_OW!_ God _damn_!"

He smiled and opened his eyes, watching as Spark struggled to internalize her pain. Whatever it was she thought she was feeling, he was glad she was feeling it.

Mind torture. Came in handy when the cuffs malfuntioned.

"You done being cocky now?" he asked coldly, stopping her pain. "Or do you need. . .persuasion?"

"Little bastard," Spark mumbled, trembling as she sat upright on her little cot. "I thought I told you torture's useless?"

"Oh, I don't really think that."

_"Ahhh!" _she gasped as quietly as she could. As if he wouldn't be able to hear it.

"I don't think you think that either."

Spark held her head, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she moaned in pain. "Mmmmm. . .nnnnnn. . .!"

"Listen, all you have to do is tell me what you remember," Con said matter-of-factly, leaning back against the door. He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. "Just tell me and the pain will stop."

"I don't. . .remember. . .anything!" Spark cried out. "I swear!"

Con let her mind rest and Spark gasped from the sudden release. She was still huddled in a ball, but she wasn't hurting anymore.

"I don't remember you," she repeated slowly, taking deep, steadying breaths. "Not really."

"What d'you mean, _not really_?" Con asked quickly.

Spark shrugged. "Sorry. Not tellin'. The whole _torture _thing put me off. You're gonna hafta be nice if you want me to say anything else."

Con tensed, and Spark noticed. She smirked. "Trust me. You hit that pain button again, and I'll bite my tongue so hard I'll bleed out. You'll never learn anything, _and _you'll have my death on your hands. You don't want that, do you?"

She was probably telling the truth, which pissed him off. How do you break somebody who's virtually unbreakable? When pain and scare tactics didn't work and "being their friend" was impossible, what was left?

Con sighed. Going in blind and telling them everything you know in hope of learning everything _they_ know is what.

It sucked, because it had a high percentage rate of blowing up in your face.

"Listen. . .Spark. Jay--you remember him?--said you probably blocked out me, Blaze, and the rest of us because we were too closely associated with that little incident. . ."

"Little incident?!" Spark echoed. "They tortured me! Every day! They shipped me out to be tested and tortured all around the country for a _year _before I escaped! Don't you dare call that a _little incident_!"

There it was again--the claim of torture. Con frowned. They said they'd tested her, and when she hadn't cooperated once, they'd given her a little electric shock. Not long after, she'd broken out of the van on the way to one of her out-of-state training weeks and run away.

But Spark was saying they tortured her.

Who was he supposed to believe?

The coats who'd raised him, trained him, tested him, punished him, and, yes, occasionally rewarded him?

Or the runaway little sister that'd dumped all the pressures of leading onto him when he was six?

_She _was the one who was supposed to be leader. _She _was the one who was supposed to direct all the missions, handle all the stolen goods, and get yelled at for every tiny little screw-up. He hadn't wanted it. He _still _didn't want it. She'd run away, leaving him to pick up the pieces. He'd been expected to act tough, to think clearly, to be the best, no matter what. Who cared if he was happy, sad, angry, depressed? As long as he got the job done, who cared? Unlike the others, he hadn't been allowed any "down time." He'd been forced to train, fight, test, think, protect, and take care of everything all the time. _All the time_.

It was supposed to be _her _job. Not his.

He blinked, surprised at the sudden wave of rage that washed over him. Rage at Spark for leaving, for forgetting about them, for making him take care of the others.

She was the one designed to handle it. He wasn't. He'd been designed to fight, to assist in protecting the team. He wasn't made to calm Blaze down, to encourage Swift to actually speak, to comfort Shadow when he cried, to reassure Avi when she missed her family.

_He wasn't supposed to lead._

"Hey, where's a kid get pills 'round here? My head's killing me."

Spark's voice snapped him out of his mini-trance and he stared at her. She stared right back.

"Can I help you?" she asked mildly. "I mean, I know I'm pretty, Con, but really. Isn't Blaze watching on the other side of the window? She might get jealous. Not that I _mind_, of course. I like pissing her off. But she might bite your head off a little bit or somethi--_ah!_"

That did it. He snapped.

She broke off with a short cry as Con forced her to think of pain. Every memory of every time she'd hurt herself would flash through her mind so fast she wouldn't know it was just in her head. Every cut, scrape, and burn, every headache, migraine, and broken bone, every single thing that had ever hurt her, re-lived tenfold.

"Will. . .you. . .stop. . .doing. . .that!" she gasped. He'd let it go for almost four whole minutes before letting her go.

"You ran away," said Con, forcing his voice to stay level. He was clenching his fists so hard his nails were digging into his palms. This must be how Blaze felt. So frustratingly _mad_ he could barely contain it.

"So I've been told," Spark replied acidly. "In my eyes, however, I _escaped_. Either or."

Con started forward, ready to hit her, when her words registered.

_Either or_.

She'd said that before. All the time, whenever they disagreed about anything. Back when they'd been brother and sister. Back when she'd been leader and they'd been happy.

"N-neither nor," he whispered, more to himself than her. His comeback.

"Huh?" Spark looked confused. Her brows came together as her golden-brown eyes narrowed. "Why'd you say that?"

"Because that's what I say when you say _either or_," Con found himself muttering. "We used to do that all the time. . .before you left. . ."

"Why do you keep _saying _that?" Spark asked suddenly, kicking her legs in frustration. "Before I left _what_?"

"Us. The Factory."

"What the hell's the Factory?"

Con shook himself from the surprise of the memory. He fixed his trademark blank stare back on his face and looked at Spark. "The place we were all made. Where we lived."

"The hellhole they kept sending me back to? I remember!" Spark said brightly, perking up. Then she rolled her eyes and slumped back against the wall again. "_Not!_"

Oh, God. Saying _not_ after a sarcastic statement. She used to do that, too. They all had.

Con slammed his fist into the stone wall by Spark's head. He barely felt the pain of his knuckles cracking. "If you'd just shut up for five seconds!" He didn't normally yell, but she was _really _pissing him off.

Spark looked at one of her hands and put up one finger. Then another, and another. . .

"Aw, _crap_!" she cried, putting up the fourth finger. "_So _close!"

She made a fist and let out a breath. "Okay. Breathe, re-group, and try again."

Con shut his eyes and tried to quell his fury. One, two, three, four. . .

"Dammit!"

"Shut _up_!!" This time he actually hit her, not the wall. His knuckles, bloodied from the previous encounter with concrete, left an imprint on Spark's cheekbone.

"_Hey!_" she yelled. "I'm _trying_ to do what you said here! Now, ready, set, try it once more. . ." Spark stared intently at her hand.

Con slapped her hands down, only becoming more angry as she smirked knowingly. She _tsk_ed.

"Temper, temper. Not good, Con. It can really screw you up if you let it. Trust me, I know. Nearly broke my brother's leg once 'cuz I let it get to me."

He backhanded her so hard she nearly fell off the end of the cot.

"Just shut _up_! You're so. . .so. . ."

Now he _really _knew what Blaze had felt like. There were no words for how frustratingly _annoying_ the little traitor was! Nothing was good enough to describe her! That sarcastic, amnesiastic, cocky little bitch was just too. . .so. . ._Spark!_ She wasn't the same person!

"What am I?" Spark asked, still smirking, obviously enjoying his state of frustration. "Blaze wasn't up to the task, but maybe you are. Go ahead! Give it a go! What am I?"

"You little _bitch_! How can you not remember us?!"

Con hated the note of desperation in his voice, but he couldn't contain it anymore. Four hours and not even a hint of a memory?

"Aw, man," Spark whined. "_Bitch _is the best you can do? Con, you disappoint me."

"You changed my life by running away. They made me lead. You don't know how hard it is! So don't tell me I _disappoint _you, because apparently I disappoint everybody else!"

"Oh, so you're going to blame me for your troubled childhood?"

"It was _your fault_!"

"Well, sor-_ry_. I had no idea the butterfly effect of my running away would screw you over for life. And frankly, I don't think I cared."

"Why _not_? We were like a family! You loved us! Why didn't you come back?"

His voice almost _cracked_, for God's sake! What the _hell _was wrong with him?!

"You know, I don't know. Maybe it's 'cuz my only choices were _escape _or _death_," Spark snapped, glaring at Con fiercely. "What do you want me to do? Cry? Apologize? Beg for forgiveness? Because if you're expecting me to do any of that, tough! How can I when I have _no idea what the hell you're talking about_?!"

Dark blue sparks danced from the cuffs around Spark's hands and feet. Con jumped back just as blue-black bolts of electricity started crackling their way up Spark's arms, the discharge lifting her hair in a blond halo around her head.

He backed away, some primitive instinct telling him to run out the door before she blew the place up. But Con refused to reach for the handle of the door. He wouldn't let her win.

He could hear someone knocking on the glass--probably Avi or Shadow. Somebody who could still worry about his safety.

As he bumped back against the door, he felt the control to Spark's cuffs in his back pocket. It hadn't shocked her before, but maybe. . .

Con pulled the remote from his pocket and stabbed the red button.

He'd been right--Spark's personal electricity had re-booted the cuffs. They lit up so bright Con had to shield his eyes as Spark screamed.

It only lasted a few seconds, but that was enough. When Con looked over at Spark, she was curled up in a ball on her side, trembling on the floor of the interrogation room.

"You. . .son. . .of. . .a bitch!" she stuttered. She wasn't crying, but rather shaking so hard it seemed difficult for her to string two words together.

There was another timid knock on the window.

Con took it as a sign he was done. So he drew himself up, walked up to Spark, and gave her a good kick in the ribs. She cringed, then slammed her hands against his ankle. It hurt--especially from the leftover electricity that shot up his leg--but he'd had worse.

"You don't deserve to lead anymore," he said softly. "Good leaders don't show their pain." He turned to leave.

Just as he left the room, Spark yelled, "Like I f*cking care about leading a bunch of freaks!"

* * *

so con's chapter was all about the pressure of leading a team of the most elite thieves the world's ever seen.

pressure that spark dumped on him after she ran away.

you can see the resentment.

hm. . .i wonder who's next. . .

people who guess right get something shiny!


	15. Chapter 15

to all of you who guessed blaze, you were right! but i lied about the getting something shiny part. so all you get is the self-pride that you guessed something correctly.

oh, and you get the chapter. so it's win-win. i don't have to send something shiny to each and every one of you, and you get to read the next chapter of my epic tale.

see? win-win.

11Twilightcrazy--tell me if anything's wrong with blaze in this chapter. please and thank you!

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**15. cry**_

_Just don't kill her._

Con's warning rang in Blaze's head as she closed the interrogation room door behind her, glaring at Spark, who was gingerly lowering herself back down onto the cot. Blaze crossed her arms and waited for Spark to address her.

"Oh! Hi, Blaze!" she said brightly as soon as she noticed her. "Is it your turn?"

_Just don't kill her._

"Yeah. It is."

"Yayzerz!" Spark leaned back against the wall and smiled warmly at Blaze. "What'cha wanna talk about?"

Don't kill her, huh? That was gonna be a challenge.

"Why'd you leave?" Blaze was sure to keep her voice almost completely monotone, so as not to give Spark any inkling as to what she was feeling.

"Well, let's see." Spark bit her lip and tapped her chin in mock concentration. "I was abused, tortured, and almost killed every single freaking day I can remember from back then. The real question is why didn't I leave _sooner_?"

Blaze clenched her fists, fighting the fire that begged to erupt from her fingertips. Until today, she'd never had such a problem controlling her temper.

Well, sure, she'd had trouble containing it around the scientists, but even torturous lab tests paled in comparison to the sheer fury Spark was igniting in her. It was as if her soul were made of charcoal, Spark's words the gasoline to fuel the intensity of the flames.

_Just don't kill her._

"Hey, if we're on the subject of running away, why didn't you guys do anything?" Spark asked suddenly, sounding genuinely curious. "Why'd you just bend over and take it?"

"They beefed up security after you busted out," Blaze said tensely, each word a struggle. "Even when they were still nice, they took to chaining us up in our rooms. Not even Swift could pick the locks."

"Hoo. That sucks. Good thing I didn't go through it!" Spark exclaimed, beaming.

Blaze stalked forward and poked her finger in Spark's chest. "_Listen_, you little punk! Your leaving screwed the rest of us over! They _tested _us and _trained _us until our brains overloaded and our muscles spazzed out! You have no _idea _what we went through!"

"Exactly! _Because I wasn't there!_" Spark yelled back. "I _escaped_! And even though I don't remember you guys, I doubt I'd be sorry for leaving you behind, 'cuz so far y'all seem like a bunch of jackasses!"

"Why can't you remember us?" Blaze demanded. "Your memory's supposed to be wicked-good, right?"

Spark glared at the floor and Blaze hesitated momentarily. Then she sighed and tried a different tactic.

"We were your _friends_. Your _family_. Why would you leave us behind?" she asked, striving to keep her voice gentle. Or, if not gentle, at least non-hostile.

"I broke out of a moving armored car. Clearly, saving everyone wasn't really one of my choices," Spark mumbled. She glanced up at Blaze with eyes full of venom and added, "And I'm not gonna apologize for something I'm not sorry I did."

Abandoning the nice act and letting out a wordless shriek of frustration, Blaze kicked the wall. A wave of pain erupted from her toes, but it was nothing compared to the pain in her heart.

"Why don't you _remember_?!!"

"I don't know _why_, I just _don't_!" Spark shouted angrily. "So stop blaming me for your screwed-up little life and _back the hell off already_!"

Blaze whirled, her eyes turning completely silver, and grabbed the front of Spark's shirt, pulling her up close. "You. . .you. . .!"

Spark rolled her eyes. "What d'you want me to do? Cry? Beg for mercy?"

Blaze swung Spark around and slammed her into a wall, fastening her other hand around Spark's neck.

"Hey. . .!" Spark said, her hands flying up to grab Blaze's wrist. She tried to pull the arm away, but wasn't able to. She was still weak from that electrocution Con had given her.

Blaze was, for the moment, stronger.

Spark couldn't, for the moment, fight back.

She was, for the moment, at Blaze's mercy.

And Blaze refused to give up the opportunity.

"Ah. . .ah!" Spark hissed and started to squirm as Blaze's hand started to burn.

"Yes," Blaze said, keeping her voice even with difficulty. "I want you to _cry_. I want you to _tell me you're sorry_."

"For _what?_" Spark asked. Blaze squeezed her neck in anger. "Ack!"

_"For running the hell away and leaving us!!"_

She could feel the heat building under her hand, and she knew Spark's skin was beginning to burn. But the traitor wouldn't make a sound. She just kept her eyes closed and tightened her grip on Blaze's arm.

_Just don't kill her._

Furious, Blaze pulled Spark away from the wall, only to slam her back against it.

"Ah. . .!"

That's it? That's all she'd do? A tiny, strangled gasp?

The heat increased, and the smell of burning flesh filled Blaze's nose. Tears stung her eyes as she knocked Spark's skull into the concrete again, again, again. Someone started knocking on the window, but she ignored it.

She hadn't been able to stop crying for three weeks after Jay had told them Spark ran away. Her little sister, gone. Her best friend, gone. Her leader, gone.

She'd hoped she'd come back. They'd all hoped and waited and prayed, but Spark--their smart, funny little sister whose static-charged hugs made your skin tingle--hadn't returned.

But here she was, _finally_, after ten long years, and she wouldn't apologize, wouldn't give in to pain.

"Why. . .won't. . .you. . .cry?!?" Blaze demanded, punctuating each word with another knock against the wall.

Spark's nails dug into Blaze's wrist and an intense electric shock ran up Blaze's arm. She jumped back, letting go of Spark's throat in the process. Rubbing her hand, Blaze watched her ex-sister slide to the floor, barely conscious. Her neck was flaming red in the shape of Blaze's hand and the back of her head left a trail of blood on the wall.

_Just don't kill her._

Spark drew her knees up to her chest and rested her head on them. She clasped her hands over the back of her head, but the blood ran through her long, slender fingers. Her breathing was ragged and uneven.

Whoever had been knocking on the window before was practically trying to break it down now. Blaze continued to ignore it.

"I. . .never. . .cry," she rasped, not even bothering to look up. From what Blaze could see, Spark's face was dry, her eyes maybe a tiny bit wet.

And that was probably from the physical pain. Not the emotional.

_She still couldn't feel it._

Blaze's vision went blurry as more silvery tears clouded her eyes. Steam was already curling up off her cheeks from where the boiling-hot quicksilver had left trails.

"I hate you."

"I'm not too fond of you, either."

Blaze kicked viciously, catching Spark right in the ribcage. There was a _crack_ and Spark let out a surprised grunt of pain.

"You. . .bitch!" she ground out. "I never _did _anything to you!"

She kicked again. And again. And again.

"You _left_! You ran away and left us to those _freaks _at the Factory! And you never came back!"

She never came back. Her little sister, gone. Forever.

Spark had been the one reason the scientists left them pretty much alone. Jay had had a theory, where if any of Spark's friends were hurt, Spark would lose it and possibly destroy the Factory.

Then, inspired by the pretty picture Jay painted of worldly destruction, they'd started "testing" Spark. And she ran away.

Then Jay had been demoted to babysitter and the scientists started "testing" the other children, too, in hope at least one of them had the sheer power Spark had had.

It'd been hell.

"Run faster! Flame hotter! Be stronger!" Blaze mumbled as she kicked at Spark again. The runaway had curled up into a ball and was fending off most of Blaze's kicks with her arms. It wasn't long before there was another loud _crack _and Spark cried out, holding one arm closer to her chest.

_Just don't kill her._

She hadn't. Not yet. Just injured her.

Burned neck.

Fractured skull.

Cracked ribs.

Broken arm.

Broken _heart_.

_"I. . .hate. . .you!"_

Blaze kicked Spark for the last time, once for each simple word. The last kick caught fire as it swung for Spark's stomach--Blaze's boot burned a hole right through Spark's shirt and lodged hot leather deep in Spark's skin.

_"AHHH!!"_

She finally cracked and gave a real scream of pain, but that didn't matter. Blaze was already pushing past the doctors trying to run in to tend to the girl in the interrogation room.

Spark.

The traitor. The runaway. The ex-sister.

The bitch who refused to cry.

* * *

so for blaze it's basically a total meltdown.

in my head, she sort-of seemed like the tough one, unwilling to show most of her emotions and afraid to do so as well.

until she found spark and basically lost control as the buried memories broke the surface of her mind.

and although this is one of the shortest chapters for this story, i had a lot of fun writing it.

because--and no offense to blaze--it was fun coming up with her breakdown.

actually, my best writing comes from writing people's emotional distress. . .is that bad?

but yeah. next up is. . .


	16. Chapter 16

sorry. i figured out that it's rather difficult to write an entire chapter about an elective mute conducting an interrogation. (i dare you to try it. on wordpad, this chapter's 12.5 KB, in 10-pt arial font. so go ahead. even if it doesn't pertain to anything you're writing whatsoever. take an elective mute, an obnoxious hostage, and write an interrogation.)

anyway. . .you've probably guessed by now that it's swift's chapter. (what with the elective mute thing and all. . .)

so, of course, FireHawk43: tell me anything you don't deem right about swift's character.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

(do i _really _need to put that before every chapter?)

* * *

_**16. mute**_

Swift watched as Spark stirred and groaned, finally regaining consciousness.

Blaze must've been really, _really_ pissed to've beat her up that badly. An entire day had had to pass while the doctors treated Spark and made sure she was okay.

She was, of course. A few broken bones, some second- and third-degree burns, a little blood loss.

But just because she was hurt didn't mean Swift had to take it easy on her.

"Oh, God. . ." Spark tried to shake her head but stopped immediately, grabbing her temples. The hand in the splint twitched awkwardly at the sudden movement. "Ah_-hh_. Damn. Not a good idea."

Swift didn't say anything. He just stared.

Spark's hair--what he could see of it, anyway, 'cuz the doctors had wrapped almost her entire head in white gauze--was blond, much like his own. Her eyes were lighter than Shadow's, a little different than he remembered, but that didn't matter. She still kinda looked like the sister who slaved at the computers for hours on end with him. Still looked like the silly little girl who challenged him to hacking races. Still looked like the sore loser who cheated and fizzled out his keyboard right when he was about to win.

Blaze had been a little more distant than Spark had. Therefore, Spark had been more of his big sister than Blaze had.

He'd been hurt when she ran away. So hurt, in fact, that he'd gradually lost the will to speak. Five weeks after she left, he'd pretty much stopped talking altogether.

Spark finally seemed to realize he was there. She looked at him incomprehensively for a while before asking, "Are you gonna say anything or are you just gonna stare at me?"

Her voice was strained, probably from the burn in the shape of Blaze's hand on her neck. That was covered by white gauze as well.

"Because if you wanna say something, get it over with. I'm pretty much _done_ with you freaks."

_Freaks_. That's what she thought they were? Freaks? They were family. At least, they _had _been. Once upon a time.

"Oh. . .wait. You're one of my supposed brothers, right? The one with the funny feet."

Funny? Swift frowned. What was funny about having an extra one-point-six-eight-nine-two percent bird DNA? It'd messed up his legs! He had _talons_ for _feet_! What was funny about _that_?!

Almost in response to his thoughts, his talons clacked across the floor. The way peoples' fingers do when they're tense.

"Ahh, see? Bird feet, I was right. You're one of the kids I'm supposed to remember. What's your name? Talon? Kinda literal and obvious, don't ya think?"

Talon? No, that wasn't his name. His name was Swift. Why didn't she know that?

"Then again, I knew a chick named Talon. Human girl, about five-four, in my math class last year. She was pretty cool, actually. And it's not like _she _had talons. Kinda makes you wonder what was goin' through the parents' minds when they name a kid something like that, huh?"

Swift clenched his fists, his frustration slowly building. It'd been mildly amusing when she did it to Blaze and Con, but now that it was happening to him, it was just plain annoying.

"You know, once, I flipped through a baby name book, and the funniest name I saw was _Adorabelle_. _Adorabelle_! It's like they tried to combine 'adorable' and 'doorbell' or something." Spark sighed and shrugged. "But hey, I'm not one to judge. All I can say is I feel sorry for whatever child is unfortunate enough to actually have that name."

He finally let it slip. "Shut _up_."

Spark looked at him for a second, then sighed again. "Is that the best you guys can do? _Shut up_? I mean, come on. Be creative. There's _can it_, _zip it_, _shut your face_, and, of course, just plain ol' _stop talking_. Jazz it up a little, Talon. Make my interrogation interesting."

Barely ten minutes and already he wanted to crush her. What _was _it about her that made her so goddamn annoying?

With an effort, Swift took a breath and kept himself from digging his claws into Spark's flesh. As he'd seen with Con and Blaze, violence clearly wasn't doing much in getting them anywhere.

"Why. . .can't you. . .remember?" he asked with difficulty. His voice was awfully quiet, a result from his elective muteness. Actually, those last two sentences--_shut up _and _why can't you remember_--were among the longest sentences he'd spoken in the ten years since Spark's leaving.

" 'Cuz I can't," Spark said bluntly, inspecting her fingernails with mild interest. She winced as she flexed her fingers. "Damn Blaze. Why'd she break my arm?"

Because she'd been furious. Hadn't that been obvious?

"I mean, she beat me up for something I don't remember doing. That's _so _not cool."

There it was again: _I don't remember_.

How was it possible? When he was little, Swift remembered all the scientists raving about all of Spark's amazing abilities. Her atom control. Her accelerated learning skills. Her strength, her sight, and, most of all, her memory.

Photographic _and _phonographic memory. She was supposedly able to remember everything she'd ever seen, everything she'd ever heard.

Of course, Mr. Jay had said the trauma of her "incident" had probably blocked everything else out. Just the one. . .incident. . .

Swift frowned. When they'd first started questioning her, Spark had said she'd been tortured thousands of times in hundreds of different ways.

But whenever they'd asked about it, Jay had always claimed a short-tempered techie had slapped her around once or twice. And that was it--no mention of electric shock, of whipping, of breaking any bones. Just a couple knocks to the head and back during some tests.

Then again. . .

He remembered how Spark had changed, becoming a little quieter, a little less energetic after each "testing session." Every day in the ten months before she ran away, his big sister had withdrawn into herself more and more, losing focus when they hacked computers, slowing down when they ran on treadmills.

Whenever anybody in a white coat reached out to her, she flinched.

Now that he was older, he recognized the signs of abuse.

So. . .he felt. . .he almost felt like believing Spark. Because, well. . . Jay _had_ lied to them before. Lots of times. Mainly it was because he was trying to water down the truth about something, to protect them, but they eventually found out the truth every single time.

On the other hand, Spark hadn't lied to them at all. Yet. He didn't think.

"Yo, Talon, I got a question." Swift jerked and looked at Spark, who was picking at the hem of her jeans with a fingernail. Not looking up at him, she started to speak with a somewhat Southern accent.

"You, me, an' the rest of yiz out there seem ta have th' DNA of hawks an' birds of prey an' stuff. Like, our wings ain't red or blue or green, like robins or blue jays or parrots. Which leads me ta ask: ya think those crazy scientist dudes ever made a bird-kid that was two percent _penguin_?* 'Cuz, like, those things can't fly. An' they're kinda fat. So, like, what's the deal?"

. . .Penguin.

Two percent _penguin_.

She had to be joking.

"Or, maybe, like, two percent ostrich. Or kiwi. 'Cuz those things can't fly neither. Unless, like, they realized how stupid an' wasteful it'd be to do somethin' like that. . .

"You. . ."

"Oh!" Spark immediately straighted up, losing the accent and putting on a look of excited anticipation. "You're gonna try it too! The name-calling! Come on, Talon, make me proud!"

"_Idiot_."

"Aww." Spark hunched over, shaking her head. "Man. You guys are _so _un-cool in the name-calling department."

What was with her and name-calling? She'd insulted their insulting skills every chance she had, and none of them had any idea as to why.

"Hey, Talon. . ."

And why did she keep calling him that?! His name was Swift. _Swift!_

"Taaaalllllooooonn. You keep zoning out on me!" Spark complained in mock anger. "It's really rude. I think you should apologize."

"_Swift_," he finally corrected, his voice barely above an annoyed whisper.

"Huh?"

Swift rolled his eyes and turned away, taking a few steps so he could lean against the wall.

"What was it you said, Talon? _Swift_? Is that your actual name? Or some weird key-word for _sorry_? 'Cuz what I _really _wanted was an apology for your rude zoning out. . .which you're doing again!"

Swift ignored her, trying to think again. If what Jay had once said was true--that Spark had probably led a normal life up until they'd found her again--then she would've been exposed to a lot of things the scientists hadn't allowed back at the Factory. Things like unlimited TV, Internet, and phone privileges. Access to people her own age. People who didn't want to dissect her and study her blood and make her run until she puked.

"Well, _Talon_, I like calling you _Talon _instead of _Swift_, so that's what I'm gonna call ya. Just to annoy you. _Talon_."

Swift's control broke. He whirled around and lashed out with his leg, dragging his talons across Spark's abdomen.

The hooked claws ripped right through her shirt and the white gauze beneath, scraping skin and drawing blood. Spark recoiled and let out a sharp cry of pain.

"What the _hell_?" she protested, cringing and drawing her knees up in a protective gesture. "You're the third bad cop in a row! Where's my f*cking good cop?!"

Swift backed into the door, fists trembling with rage. He'd tried so hard not to lose it like Blaze and Con, but it'd just been too hard. Something about her. . .

This girl--_this _Spark--wasn't the Spark he remembered. This Spark wasn't the big sister he'd missed these past ten years.

He'd only been in the room for half an hour or so.

But he was done.

He couldn't take it. He _wouldn't _take it.

Swift left the room, dimly aware of Con lazily sauntering out to the hall and calling for a doctor. He _did _just make worse the burn Blaze had delivered, after all.

Oh well. As far as he was concerned, it didn't matter if Spark lived or died.

* * *

*i got that random thought in physics the other day, 'cuz the teacher of that class likes to kill penguins in various and amusing ways when he does sample problems on the board. (my favorite so far was the one that lost control of its wagon and ran into a wall of jagged spikes.) it's all that gets me through the day, which is kinda sad.

anyway.

not even swift could keep his cool. how tragic. . .

it was really tough getting through this without having swift talk too much. i mean, like i said up at the beginning: elective mutes conducting interrogations is hard writing.

i hope i nailed it, though. he only said nine words throughout the whole thing.

so, we have gotten through the interrogations of the members directly affected by spark's running away. now we get to move on to those who don't know her, but know _of _her: shadow and avi.

hopefully, their chapters will shed some light onto spark's troubled childhood with the anti-flock.

which one shall be first?


	17. Chapter 17

i was sick last week. boo.

and i had writer's block. double boo.

and today's the first time i've been able to get on the internet in since i updated last. _triple _boo.

but guess what! i found a theme song for my little story. _you're gonna go far kid_, by the offspring. so if you're at all interested, look it up.

the lyrics may not seem relevant to the story, but i love the song. don't know why, it just seemed to fit.

. . .so yeah.

last chapter i said this chapter could possibly clear things up a little bit.

isn't it ironic that shadow's gonna be the first one to shed some light?

amongthewinged, my friend: shadow's your character. did i get his personality okay? or am i an epic failure at portraying him?

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**17. understand**_

"What the hell is your guys' problem with hurting me?!" Spark snapped as Shadow walked in, rubbing the fresh bandages the doctors had wrapped her in. "First I'm electrocuted, then burned, then _clawed _at. What're _you_ gonna do to me? _Bite _me?"

"Huh?" Shadow closed the door and turned back to Spark, who was glaring at him.

"What are you, stupid? No spreken de English?" Spark's temper had obviously frayed during her interrogation/punching bag sessions. "Maybe you'll understand something else!" She then proceeded to babble in French, Spanish, and what Shadow thought might've been Latin.

Spark looked god-awful. Her hair was all messy, her face was pale and flushed, a lot of the skin he could see was bruised, and she was spouting foreign threats and curses with complete seriousness. It was kinda funny. So, by the time she'd switched to some Asian language--Japanese, probably--Shadow started to giggle.

"And what the _hell _is so goddamn _funny_?" Spark snapped, breaking off mid-sentence to revert to English.

"You are," he said bluntly, smirking. "You look awful."

"Gee, thanks. I was goin' for the imprisoned hostage look. Nice to know I pulled it off!"

He wasn't particularly bothered that she didn't recognize him. After all, she'd run away before he was even born. She'd never met him before. But that didn't change the fact that she'd run away in the first place.

Shadow frowned, remembering all the stuff Con and Blaze and Swift had told him over the years.

_"She was nice. And smart, and funny, and strong. She was our sister."_

_"But she ran away, right?"_

_"Ever since she left, they've been testing us and making us learn how to fight. They know the rest of us can't do anything major to fight back, so they do whatever the hell they want."_

_"It wasn't like that before?"_

_"Nah. It was kinda nice before. We didn't have to do anything we didn't want to do, mainly 'cuz Spark wouldn't let them do anything bad to us."_

_"Why'd they listen to her?"_

_"They were afraid."_

_"Of what?"_

_"Of dying. When she got pissed, stuff started blowin' up. So they did what they could to keep that from happening."_

"Yo!"

Shadow flinched at Spark's voice. Annoyed, she said, "_Please _don't tell me you're another quiet one. Talon was driving me absolutely _insane_ with that crap!"

"You mean Swift?" Shadow asked. "Why're you callin' him Talon?"

" 'Cuz he's got talons for feet, genius! It's the obvious thing to do!"

"That's not his name," Shadow said firmly. "His name's Swift."

"Does it _look _like I care, baby bird?"

Baby?! Shadow ran up and kicked Spark's shin; she swore and brought her legs up off the ground. "Shit! That hurt, you little bastard!"

"Don't call me that!" he shouted. "My name's Shadow!!"

"Fine, geez!" Spark cried, holding up her hands defensively. "Don't get your feathers in a flurry. What's your problem?"

"You are!" he said loudly. "You ran away! You left us!"

"So I've been. . .Wait a second." Spark studied Shadow for a few moments, then asked, "You're, what, eight?"

"Eight and a _half_," he corrected defiantly.

"I ran away _ten_ years ago. There's no way I knew you. You can't be mad at me!"

"I can be mad!" Shadow protested. "If you hadn't left, Blaze and Con wouldn't be in a shitty mood all the time and we wouldn't hafta train every goddamn day!"

"Good _Lord!_" Spark cried, looking genuinely shocked for the first time in the past two days. "Do you kiss your mom with that mouth?"

"I don't have a mom!" he snapped back. "So shut up!"

"That's not the point, short stuff," Spark said, shaking her head. "Eight-year-olds do not curse. You have to be at _least _fourteen to do that."

"I do whatever the hell I want! So there!" Shadow stuck out his tongue at Spark.

"Ohhh. . .I get it. You're a _brat_." Now she was nodding, as if she'd realized something. "That makes a little more sense."

"I'm not a brat!" Shadow yelled, clenching his fists and bringing back his leg to kick her again.

"You _so _are, you gleeky, lily-livered canker-blossom."

Shadow stopped, staring at Spark. "What the _f*ck_?"

"Gleeky, lily-livered canker-blossom," she repeated, smirking. "See, now _that's _an insult."

"What's it even mean?"

Spark shrugged. "How the hell should I know? It's from Shakespeare's time. But at least it's interesting, right?"

Time. Right. He only had a certain amount of time left to do this.

He and Avi had been talking before, when Swift had been in here with Spark. They both had powers that messed with memories--Shadow could blur them and make them all fuzzy, and Avi could literally take them.

You had to see the memory before you screwed with it.

So, what if they went in, found the memories, but didn't take them?

It was like tying a string around something and pulling it toward you. They could go in, search for and possibly find the buried memories, tie the string, and pull. But right before they could pull it all the way out, they'd cut it loose and let it flounder. It'd be right at the top of Spark's mind, fresh and clear as if it'd happened yesterday.

It was worth a shot.

Shadow closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Shaaaadoooowww. Don't fall asleep on me, okay?" Spark said slowly, mockingly. "It's not nap time yet!"

Shadow frowned and concentrated on blocking Spark's voice out first. Once it faded into the background, he reached out to her with his mind.

He sensed her surprise when he touched her mind, almost as if she could feel his presence. That was kinda weird--not once had he ever had to deal with that before--but he pushed past it and dove into her memories.

But something stopped him. It was like a giant stone wall blocking him out of Spark's mind. That hadn't happened before either. Usually everything was right there.

He attacked the wall, imagining that he was hammering at it with a battering ram like angry villagers at the doors of a monster's castle. Spark's mind resisted, but after a few vicious attacks, the wall crumbled, allowing Shadow access to all of her memories.

It was like swimming through time--every few seconds showed a earlier memory than the last. Shadow caught glimpses of the same four humans a lot, and he guessed it was Spark's "family."

Funny. . .they looked a lot like her. The little boy had the same color hair, and the dad had her eyes, and the mother and sister shared Spark's facial structure. . .

Shadow shook the thoughts away and kept diving.

Houses in a neighborhood disappeared. Children grew younger, smaller, some fading away altogether. The landscape changed from one of a quiet suburb to a city. A loud, busy city. A _familiar _city.

The city of Chicago.

Shadow smiled, knowing he'd struck gold.

He went a little deeper, until he found another blockage. This one was stronger and more concentrated than the first; instead of a stone wall, this was a steel box.

He imagined taking a blowtorch to it, and hitting at it with a sledgehammer, but all he succeeded in doing was bending the steel box. Frustrated, Shadow blurred over some fond memories of an old, grandparent-like couple.

Spark's mind retaliated with painful jabs at Shadow's psyche, and in doing so, the strength and concentration of the steel box of pre-torture Factory memories weakened. Shadow seized the opportunity and battered the blockage again, this time shattering it to a thousand pieces.

Almost overwhelmed by the flood of memories, Shadow accidentally blurred a few beyond recognition. But then he snapped himself out of it and let the rest of the memories go, free to wander Spark's mind once again.

Shadow began to pull out, but much more slowly than when he'd gone in. Now that the memories were free, he decided to look at a few of them. Most were in a place he recognized--the rooms they'd been raised in back at the Factory, the wing devoted to the hybrids' comfort.

_Soft, pastel-colored walls. A line of computers along one wall, a couple of toy chests in another corner, a table strewn with paper and pens._

_Doctor Julian Newell was sitting at the table, looking rather cramped in one of the teeny little chairs. He was looking at the forgotten drawings, left behind by the three young human-avians before bedtime. He smiled when he realized the captions on one of the pictures were written in a strange combination of French, Latin, and English._

_Time fast-forwarded, flashing through hundreds of second-long images of memory before stopping at one particular instant._

_A young blond girl was sitting at a computer, a smaller blond boy to her write. Four hands were flying across two keyboards, typing hundreds of words per minute. The children were racing to hack a locked hard drive created especially for them._

_The image blurred, changing to a scene of the girl play-fighting with another boy, this one closer to her age, and with black hair. He barely ducked in time to avoid the girl's punch. She jumped up to avoid a retaliating kick, laughing._

_Another slip through time; now she was with a girl, and the two of them were taking turns shooting at a target with a small silver handgun. The black-haired girl went first, squinting through one eye as she aimed. Her bullets shot in a cluster around the bull's-eye. The blond girl took the gun and fired off her own round. . .shooting directly through the holes made by the previous girl's shots._

_Time-lapse. The little blond girl was strapped to a table, face-down, the back of her hospital gown open. Angry red whip-marks crisscrossed her brown and white spotted wings, and she was crying. _

_Then she was in the back of a truck, staring critically at the many mechanisms locking her in. The girl opened her hand and blue-white crackles of electricity danced over her fingertips. Without a second's hesitation, she slammed her hand across the flat ID-scanner. It exploded in a flurry of smoke and sparks. She did the same to the one on the opposite side of the truck before taking a long thin metal rod from her pocket and inserting it into one of the deadbolts._

A small cry of pained surprise jerked Shadow from Spark's memories. Just in time, too--his mind had instinctively been about to blur everything over, as was usual when he pulled up someone else's memory. He blinked a few times and put a hand to his head, which was beginning to throb. He glanced up at Spark and saw she was hunched over, head in hands, eyes squeezed tightly shut, lips moving soundlessly, whole body trembling.

Obviously, his plan had worked.

She remembered now.

She remembered _everything_.

Shadow felt a triumphant laugh build in his throat, but it died when a knock came at the window, signaling an end to his time. He glanced back for a second before looking back at Spark, allowing himself a smug smile.

"Bet you regret makin' fun of me, huh?" he asked tauntingly, watching as she struggled to control the sudden bout of memory.

Spark twitched, shaking her head. "Not a chance, you little freak."

"I'm not a freak!" Shadow snapped furiously. "If anything, _you're _the freak! You couldn't remember anything until I made you!"

"_D__é__visser_**. Unless I'm mistaken, that knock means Connie called you back. So go away."

"You. . ."

Another knock on the glass, more impatient than the first. Spark rolled her eyes.

"Don't even bother trying to insult me," she groaned boredly. "Y'all suck at it. Now go. Away with you. Shoo."

Furious, Shadow whirled around and stalked out the door. Once it'd slammed behind him, a wave of fatigue crashed over his mind and he stumbled.

Making other people remember stuff they'd blocked out was hard. Harder than he'd expected.

But he felt he was allowed to be tired. He'd done the most; he'd actually made Spark remember everything.

He'd succeeded where the others had failed. And he was only eight years old.

. . .Well, eight and a _half_.

* * *

*pronounced _day-vee-say_ (i think). it's french for _screw off_. (i'm so bad. i looked up cusswords when i was supposed to be writing about my childhood.)

geez, i hope that wasn't confusing or anything--the parts about shadow trying to find spark's memories and stuff, i mean.

which reminds me! spark remembers stuff now! oh, the insanity!

i'll give her her own chapter to process it later. 'cuz if you've been keeping up, you'll know that there's still one interrogation left: avi.


	18. Chapter 18

guess what? i took a learning test and found out i'm whole-brain dominant, like christopher robin. (yes, the winnie-the-pooh character. each result was tied to somebody.) dominant brains are in the heads of gifted children, which is a scientific way of saying i'm pretty much awesome.

i tell you this because, when i was supposed to be "re-writing" my english paper the other day (even though technically it's a recycled essay from last year that i had to re-print), i re-took the learning test according to spark's preferences. she's whole-brain dominant favoring the right, like piglet. the right side of the brain is centered around the daydreaming, laid-back, and creative parts of the mind.

anywho, just thought i'd let ya know.

on to avi's chapter! the last of the interrogations!

GrimmGurl4Lyf3!! you know what i'm gonna ask.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**18. same**_

At first, she just observed quietly. Spark didn't seem to've noticed--instead, she was staring blankly at the floor, unmoving on her skinny cot, barely breathing. Basically catatonic.

The overflow of forgotten memories was overwhelming her.

Avi knew the feeling--Shadow did as well. The two of them could find it difficult to separate themselves from the memories of the people they encountered. So many different people, experiences, emotions, scenes. . .

Shadow had it easier than she did. He didn't have to take the memories into his own mind and keep them there. Avi, on the other hand, did. She had so many memories that weren't hers. Memories she'd stolen since the scientists in the Factory grafted wings into her back.

"Hey."

Avi jumped, blinking and turning her eyes to Spark. She wasn't looking at her, but who else was she supposed to be talking to?

"You Blaze's sister or somethin'?" she asked, her voice emotionless. She was beat--all the fire she'd had with Con, Blaze, Swift, and Shadow had faded. Avi frowned, wondering absently when Spark had gotten a look at her.

"No, I'm not," she replied crisply.

"Oh. You look like it."

The black hair, the red dye, the blue eyes. Everybody always did it. Avi said, "Well, I'm not related to her. We're not really a family."

"Technically, that's a lie."

"How?"

Spark heaved a sigh, still staring at the floor. "You live together, eat together, sleep together, laugh together. Like it or not, that's a family. A twisted family, of course, but still. . ."

Avi was a little stung. Con, Blaze, Shadow, and Swift were barely her friends, let alone family! She already _had _a family, a human family, back in Indiana. Her mother. Her brothers, Jamie and Michael. Even Pipsqueak, their little Jack Russel terrier was more her family than the bird-kids.

"Wait a second. . ."

Avi glanced up and found Spark was finally looking at her. Her golden brown eyes narrowed before she slowly said, "I don't. . .know you. But you're, what, fourteen?"

Avi shook her head. "Thirteen."

"Shouldn't I know you, though? You would've been three. . ."

Again, Avi shook her head in disagreement. "The Factory kidnapped me when I was ten and grafted avian DNA into me. I wasn't there when you ran away."

"So. . .why are you here?" Spark asked curiously. Some of her attitude started leaking into her voice again as she added, "I already remember stuff, but if you weren't there, you shouldn't have a beef with me."

Avi shrugged. "I don't have a beef with you. I just wanted to talk."

Spark eyed her suspiciously. "About what?" she asked, her tone wary.

"Well. . ."

There was a _lot _she wanted to know, actually. In a way, Avi felt like she was close to Spark, even though this was the first time they'd ever met. They both had grown up with human families--granted, Avi had been human when she was growing up, but Spark had been as good as a human.

And they'd both had those families ripped away. Avi when she'd been kidnapped, and Spark when the mountain-cat group of attackers had jumped her and her father in that Chicago alleyway.

"I'm sorry they hurt you," she mumbled, for lack of anything else to say. Spark laughed sarcastically.

"Well, I'm sorry too! But hey! It's in the past, I'm over it. Ha, _not_!"

Avi's mouth twitched. Spark was definitely getting her personality back. The memories must've been filing themselves away again--if not completely blocked out, pushed to the back of her head, at least. She wondered how Spark felt now that she remembered everything. Guilty that she'd run away? Frustrated that they'd been right? Avi had no idea.

"Is there anything. . .hey, I don't even know your name," Spark said suddenly, straightening a little. "What is it?"

"Avi."

"Oh. Well, that's nice, I guess. Your parents name you that?"

"My. . .?"

"You said they kidnapped you when you were ten. So, unless you were a street kid, that means your parents gave you a name at birth."

"I. . .my name's Avi. My parents named me Avi."

"Huh. That's nice. See, me, I don't know my real name. I was kidnapped at birth."

You'd think it'd be easy to find out who you were. Just run a DNA test, right? Thing is, it wasn't always that easy. Kinship DNA only worked if the people you were related to were in the system somehow--criminals, government-regulated jobs, things like that. Besides, Swift had already tried, using a strand of Blaze's hair. The bird DNA had made the machine go haywire.

"I thought you were adopted."

Spark shrugged. "Yeah, but they named me after their dead daughter. Not my name."

Her adopted family had a dead daughter? That hadn't been in the file they'd been given.

"Dead daughter?"

"Yeah. Died when she was little or something. Well, actually she went missing, but whatever. Technicality."

"_It was weird, but I saw her family, and they, like, looked like her."_

"_What d'you mean?"_

"_Like, she looked like them. Like they were really related."_

It. . .it couldn't be, could it? The chances that Spark had actually. . .the odds were _astronomical_. It couldn't be possible. . .could it. . .?

A knock on the window made Avi turn. She frowned--if she was right, only thirty minutes had passed.

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

"Looks like they're callin' you back. That sucks. You didn't even hit me yet!"

"I wasn't gonna hit you," Avi said, a little defensively.

"Oh, emotions are fickle things, Avi. I bet I could've made you hurt me in some way had we more time."

"I. . ."

_Knock, knock._

With a frustrated sigh, Avi turned and exited the interrogation room. As soon as she shut the door behind her, she rounded on Con.

"I still had half an hour! Why'd you call me back?"

"Because you weren't getting anywhere," Con said, raising an eyebrow. "Why? Were you _going _to go somewhere with that?

"I could've read her memories," she mumbled, frowning. Nobody ever let her do _anything_. Just because she hadn't been with them as long, they thought they could do anything they wanted. . .

"Besides, we've got a problem."

"What?" Avi asked, looking back up at Con.

"The Cali group. They're here."

The Cali group--the human-avian hybrids from the School in California. Maximum Ride, Subject Eleven, and the other four. Their rivals as Itex's most successful hybrids.

"Okay, so what're we gonna do about it?"

Con smirked and glanced at Blaze, who smirked back.

"We're gonna kill 'em. Duh."

Swift tapped her arm and offered her a handful of bullets and a small handgun. It was a Smith and Wesson model thirty-six small frame classic. A .38 caliber snub-nose revolver*, this one with a blue finish. Avi took it without a second thought, methodically knocking the barrel to load it.

"You're taking out the black one. Eleven-year-old girl."

"R-right." She didn't really enjoy the killing part--she preferred hand-to-hand combat, and usually only tried to wound if she had to fire her weapon at all.

"I'm taking Ride and Blaze is taking out the Goth one. Swift shoots the blind one, Shadow'll deal with the kids, and the world is rid of Maximum Ride."

"Yay us," Blaze said boredly, sticking her gun in the holster at her waist. It was another S&W--it was the group's trademark.

"What about the dog?" Shadow asked, dropping a final bullet into his barrel.

"Whenever you get a shot. Each kill gets twenty points. Ten extra to first hit."

Ah, the point system. Before each high-risk mission, during the last check of the plans of the building they were about to break into, Con pointed out where and when guards could appear. Each one that died was worth a certain amount of points; wounded were half-value.

It was their way to make murder seem less bad. Currently, Con was in the lead with almost a thousand points. For that year _alone_.

Avi, on the other hand, was at 392. Dead last. Like always.

"Only _twenty_?" Shadow protested. "C'mon, they're worth _way _more than _that_! They're worth, like, a hundred! Each!!"

"No way, they get by on ninety percent adrenaline and ten percent bull-shit." Con rubbed his temples and let out a breath. "How about the older kids are thirty, the younger ones fifteen. Dog's only, like, ten, though, 'cuz it's an easy target."

"Easy?" Swift echoed softly.

"It can barely fly," Blaze said bluntly. "It'll be like shooting a watermelon off a fence." She cracked her knuckles experimentally and rolled her shoulders. "Easy kills are worth less than the harder ones."

"All right. We ready?" Con asked, ruffling his wings.

"Yeah." Blaze cracked her neck and carefully felt out her spiked hair, as if she wanted to be sure she looked perfect for the killing spree.

"Uh-huh!" Shadow was the most enthusiastic of the five, already pulling out the device Swift had invented to keep track of the points. He keyed in the values before hanging the stopwatch-like thing around his neck.

"Mm." Swift stuck his weapon in the holster at his side and patted his pocket; the rattle of extra rounds sounded out ominously.

"Sure." Avi took a deep breath, clearing her mind and trying to stifle her conscience.

"Then let's go."

* * *

*and that's my saiyuki reference for the day. (except for the model and cal--those i actually looked up. saiyuki's a manga series by kazuya minekura, by the way, and it's my current obsession. the gun i'm describing is the closest to sanzo's i could find. so yeah.)

speaking of, who's read the max ride manga? anybody beside me think fang's hair was ridiculously long? their wings could've looked better too. unless that's just me.

but back to the story. . .

ack! the interrogations are over! and the anti-flock is going to try to assassinate the original flock! and spark's kinda just stuck in her cell! ah!

. . .i'm hyperactive today. i'm coming off a sugar high. blame my friend for giving me candy at seven forty-five a.m.


	19. Chapter 19

i got my first critical review! yay!

why am i happy about that? because Let's Just Say It's Bob is the first one with guts to tell me straight up that he thought spark was becoming mary-sue-ish. i mean, the rest of you gave me hints sprinkled among praise, but Let's Just Say It's Bob didn't even bother to be polite. so you rock, Let's Just Say It's Bob. (but i do have a reply to your review: to me, _everybody_ is a mary-sue. if a character didn't have something special or interesting about him, why the hell would he be written about in the first place? ever think of that?)

but back to my story.

shame on you, my readers. not a single one of you commented on the horribly offensive comments towards total in the last chapter.

total shuns you.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**19. send a message**_

Max POV

"We clear on the plan?" I called, raising my voice so my flock could hear me over the wind.

It'd already been about a day since Spark had been kidnapped in the lake. We'd had to regroup, scope out, plan, and plot, and it'd taken a day too long. I could only pray that the whitecoats hadn't done anything too sick to Spark yet.

"We _got _it, Max," Iggy yelled irritably, shadowing Gazzy as we wove through the trees. "You go in through the lake, let us in a window, we find Spark, we leave. It's not exactly the most elaborate plan in the world."

It wasn't, and I'm not gonna deny that. But hey, we'd gone in after Angel with less, and we'd gotten out alive, hadn't we? Not completely unscathed, but alive. . .

A wing brushed mine and I glanced up at Fang, whose dark eyes were watching me with something like concern.

"What?" I asked.

"You sure this's the best way to save her?" he said, his voice quiet enough that nobody else could hear.

"Well, it's not like we've got a choice!" Total put in irritably, squirming in Fang's backpack. Fang and I both rolled our eyes--Total had been oddly frantic after Spark's kidnapping. "The kid's in trouble, we gotta help her!"

"Why do you like her so much?" I asked.

"What's not to like?"

I didn't get a chance to come up with a snappy retort, because just then, Angel flew straight at me, screaming my name. _"MAX!!"_

"Angel! What're you--" The rest of my words were drowned out as Angel crashed into me, propelling us both up and back a couple yards. A huge _bang_ snapped through the air, tree bark exploding right where I'd been hovering a few seconds ago.

_What the. . .?_ I squinted at the tree as I rocketed past it and felt my heart turn to ice. A bullet was embedded in the trunk of the tree.

More shots rang out, clipping leaves, shattering bark, and scattering my flock.

_We were being shot at._

"Run!" I yelled, doing a 180 and heading back for the campsite. The gunfire kinda sent a message that we weren't welcome. "Abort the plan! Rendezvous in forty-five!"

I got smattered shouts and shrieks in reply as more bullets whizzed through the trees.

_Where are they? _I thought desperately, looking around as much as I could while avoiding trees and bullets. _Why can't I see them?_

Nudge screamed and my head snapped around. I saw her sink down about ten feet, clutching her arm. Wounded, but not dead. I took tiny relief in that as I heard an unfamiliar voice.

"First blood! Ten points!" it cried gleefully. And the worst part? It sounded like a _kid._

"Not your target!" another voice shouted; this one sounded older than the first, in the realm of a teen rather than a child. There was a _bang _and I narrowly avoided being shot in the leg. "Minus six!"

"Aw, come _on_!" the first boy whined. "I got first hit!"

"_Not your target!!_" Voice #2 repeated angrily. A bullet whistled past my ear and I cursed. Why couldn't I get a look at them?

"Fine! Avi, let's trade! I'll take the black one and you shoot the kids!"

Nudge. Gazzy, Angel. The shooters were planning to kill my babies.

"Come on, guys, we gotta shake 'em!" I shouted encouragingly to my flock. "We can't let them win!"

"No trades!" a girl yelled, responding to her own comrades. I saw Fang lose a few feathers to a lucky shot. Total, in his backpack, yelped in fear before yelling at Fang to be more careful. Fang rolled his eyes in annoyance, but was soon shooting through the trunks like black lightning.

"Wingtip! Nine points!" the girl added.

"_Five_!" the elder boy's voice corrected. "He's not even bleeding!"

They were making us worth points. They were turning it into a sick game.

Another shot, another yell. This one from the Gasman; I nearly ran into a tree in my anxiety to check on him, only to find it was actually Iggy that'd been hit. Blood was soaking his jeans, seeping from the bullethole in his thigh.

"Nice one!" the youngest voice cried happily. "You hit him!"

"First wound on target, fifteen points!" the older boy called.

"Real game starts now!" the girl laughed.

It went on like this for half an hour, us fleeing through the trees, eventually separating, the shooters chasing after us one by one. The eldest voice followed me, and though I never got a good look at him, I knew he was a winged type of assassin. An old-school flying Eraser, or maybe even a fellow bird-kid. Luckily, I lost him, but only by pouring on the super-speed once I was on the fringe of the forest. I streaked a good fifty miles past our rendezvous point before I deemed it safe to turn back.

I circled the outcropping of rock a few times, scanning the foliage around it, before finally swooping down to land in the mouth of the cave.

"Max!" Angel cried, immediately running up to me. She threw her arms around my waist in a hug and buried her face in my windbreaker, shoulders shaking. "Max, you're alive!"

"Of course I am, sweetie," I said gently, stroking her blond curls and taking a quick glance around the cave. _Thank God they're all alive._ "I'd never leave you guys."

"You hurt?" I looked up at Fang, where he was tying a shirt around a sniffling Nudge's upper arm. I shook my head and saw relief sparkle in his eyes. Even if it only lasted a second.

"What about you guys?" I asked, detaching myself from Angel and going over to kneel between Nudge and Gazzy. Nudge reached for my hand and squeezed it, and I sent her a reassuring smile.

"Nudge clipped her arm, and Iggy got one in the leg," Fang said tonelessly, knotting the makeshift bandage.

"I saw you get hit," I prodded. He rolled his eyes.

"She shot off some feathers. I'm fine, Max."

"_I'm _not!" Total complained, wriggling in Angel's lap. "All these chases and bad guys aren't good for my heart!"

I ignored him, instead turning my eyes to Iggy. He looked paler than normal, probably from bloodloss. "Ig?" He gave a noncommital jerk of his head, fiddling with the bandage wrapped around his leg.

"I'm fine. Went straight through."

"Did anybody get a look at them?" I asked. Fang, Angel, and Nudge all nodded.

"I _heard _them," said Iggy bitterly, wincing as his leg pained him. "They kept shouting points. Like it was a game."

"They sounded like kids," the Gasman said, sounding nervous. He scooted closer to me and I put my arm around him. Being chased by Erasers and Flyboys was one thing; being shot at by total crazies was something else.

"They _were_ kids," said Nudge, her voice shaking. "Kids like _us_."

So they _were _human-avian hybrids. Great.

"There were five of them," Angel added, shuddering. "Three boys and two girls. They wanted to kill us."

"I know, sweetie," I said softly, rubbing her back. I could only imagine what she'd heard going through their minds as they chased us, intent on murder. "But we're not dead yet, are we?"

She shook her head. "They. . .they were thinking about Spark. A lot."

Everybody tensed up at Angel's last words. Even Total stopped fussing with his little wings to pay attention.

"What were they thinking, exactly?" I asked. "Do you remember?"

"They were all real mad at Spark, 'cuz she didn't wanna go home with them," our youngest flock member said slowly. "They used that and tried to take it out on us."

"Didn't want to go home?" Fang echoed. "What do you mean?"

"They were her family, until she ran away. They're mad 'cuz they found her again and she doesn't want anything to do with them."

Spark had a family? A flock? Before she escaped? Why hadn't she told us?

"She didn't remember," Angel supplied, answering my thoughts. "Shadow had to make her remember everything."

"Who's Shadow?" Nudge asked.

"The littlest one, with the gray and white wings. He can mess up people's memories. Only instead of messing up Spark's, he just made her remember the stuff she didn't wanna think about."

Silence followed this little bombshell, each of us falling to our own thoughts. After a few minutes, Total asked, "So I guess we're not going after Sparky today?"

I sighed. "Guess not. We should rest up, try to find a way around those. . .kids."

Fang snorted. "They're not kids. They're maniacs."

I didn't want to say it out loud, but he was right. Evil flying bird-kids with guns? In case you haven't noticed, that is _bad_. _Really _bad.

I mean, Flyboys are nice and all, with their machine guns and their chanting and their general robot-ness, but I can honestly say that they are dull enemies. We know their strengths and weaknesses. And because each Flyboy was exactly the same as the others, they make for quick victories.

Now we were facing bird-kids with handguns. Living, breathing, adaptable semi-human beings with lethal firearms.

And in all my fifteen years of experience, bird-kids come out on top. Always.

So. . .what happened when you put bird-kid against bird-kid?

Spark POV

It'd been about half an hour, forty-five minutes since Avi had been called out. The stupid cuffs on my wrists and ankles kinda restricted my movement, but I'd made my way over to the window and stared through it as hard as I could. I hadn't heard anything, but that didn't surprise me too much--even if they were watching, why would they say anything?

I'd tried the knob on the door, too, but it was locked. I didn't wanna try to kick it in, because possible deadbolts could mess up my leg, and I didn't wanna have to risk bunny-hopping around this hellhole looking for something to pick the lock to my cuffs.

I leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor, ignoring the dull pain pulsing through my body. I felt all sick and shaky from Con's charge, sharply pained from Blaze's beating, stung by Swift's slashing, and annoyed by Shadow's strike to my shin.

All in all, a very crappy way to feel.

On rare occasions--when I've been imprisoned, or simply bored--I've been able to rearrange the atoms in the doors or windows of my room and thereby escape. The downside to that, however, was that it took up a lot of concentration, patience, and energy that right now I just didn't have.

_What to do, what to do. . ._I thought to myself, casting my eyes once again over my cell. There wasn't much to work with--the screws that bolted the bed to the floor, bars on the metal frame, springs in the. . ._springs!_

Now, I'd never tried it myself, but I'd read in this one book about a prisoner using part of a metal bedspring to pick the lock on her cell. If it'd worked for her, why not for me?

(I know that's kinda flawed logic, but it gave me a teeny smidgen of hope for a millisecond. So shut it, all right?)

I'd just made it over to the bed and was feeling around for a place to rip open when a lock on the door clicked.

I immediately flipped around, fixing a blank look on my face, expecting Con or Blaze to come demand what I was doing.

Instead, my eyes locked on the twin sapphire irises of the boy who'd dragged me here in the first place via the underwater tunnel. Fish Boy.

Only he wasn't fishy. Same silvery hair, same deep blue eyes, same paper-pale skin, same slender body, but no scales, no fish tail, no gills. He was in black wetsuit and gray-black cargo shorts.

Looked like Fish Boy could hide his fishy traits the way I hid my wings.

The tension that'd built up in my chest immediately melted away. "What do _you _want?" I asked jadedly, trying to look fed up and frustrated (wasn't too hard). He had no reason to be here at all, so what the hell was he doing? Had Con sent him in? Did Con even know he was here?

"Uh. . .hi," he said awkwardly, closing the door of my cell behind him. "I. . .heard what happened to you." Con must've left, then, to go do whatever it was he did when he wasn't torturing me. Probably had no idea this kid was even here.

"And?" I prompted mildly.

"I don't like it."

_Okaaayyy. . ._ "Uh, why do you care?" I asked slowly, fully aware of how cautious I sounded. "You _do _know you're the one who brought me here in the first place."

He frowned slightly. "I know. And I'm sorry for that. I didn't know they'd hurt you."

"Aw, how sweet." _What the hell's he up to? _"I appreciate the sentiment. Really, I do. But. . ."

"They said you ran away and they just wanted to talk," Fish Boy interrupted. "I didn't know it was ten years ago and you didn't remember."

"Uh. . .right. . ." _Might not know I _do _remember. . .now, at least. . ._

Fish Boy kneeled down in front of me and reached into the pocket of his shorts. He pulled out what I immediately recognized as a lock picking kit, chose two tools, and set to unlocking my ankle-cuffs.

"What're you doing?"

"Letting you go." Already the first one had cracked open; I moved my foot and twisted it freely, taking in the bittersweet sense of semi-freedom.

"Why?"

The kid shrugged, reaching up fro my wrists. "I don't like being tricked. And I don't like pointless torture. It's Spark, right?"

I swallowed, feeling the unusual tightness from the burn in the shape of Blaze's hand.

"Yeah, but. . .you're with them," I said, still confused. Fish Boy slid his tools back into their case and looked up at me expectantly.

"And?"

"And you're releasing the Bird-Kid Captive of the Year. Just because they tricked you into it?"

He stood and offered his hand. After a second I took it, standing up of my own free will for the first time in two days. I swayed a little, but refused to fall.

"I hate it here," he said bluntly, glaring me in the eye. I was surprised by how determined he looked. "I'm not staying. And if I'm gonna escape, I might as well screw them over while I'm at it."

I hesitated, watching as he crossed to the door and opened it. Max had already rubbed off on me--I was a little suspicious. How could I know this wasn't a trap of some kind? What if he was just leading me out to another torture chamber? Or something that'd take me to another hellhole?

I debated these facts for about three-fourths of a second. Then my inner brat bitch-slapped my logical common sense and told me to take the damn opportunity and escape while I could.

Besides, he was just one kid. If he tried to turn on me, I'd punch him out and run. I'd done stuff like that before. It'd be easy.

But for now. . .

"You know, you're not so bad, Fish Boy," I said, allowing myself to genuinely smile a little for the first time that day.

"Thanks," he replied wryly, rolling his sapphire eyes. "But that's not my name."

"Oh. Do you prefer. . .Dylan?" I asked, taking a second to recall the name Con had called him back in the cave.

"God no." I followed him out into the watch room, where I took a quick glance through the one-way window. So _this _was what they'd seen, was it? A first-row seat to each of my interrogation/torture sessions.

Little jerks.

"Then what the hell am I supposed to call you?" I asked Fish Boy, watching as he glanced out the door.

"The first successful fish hybrid was a girl, right?"

"Sure," I replied, following him out into a brightly-lit, hospital-like white hallway. My nose wrinkled at the smell of bleach and other chemicals. There wasn't much there--few doors, no windows, no clocks or any other way to orient myself.

"Well, she was. They named her Ariel."

I snorted. "The Little Mermaid? Really?"

"Can't deny they're creative. Anyway, I was the first boy they tried this on, so they called me 'Project Poseidon.' You know, like. . ."

"Greek God of the Sea. Yeah." Greek Mythology. Even for a normal human, that class had to be by far the easiest course in the curriculum.

"The others just call me Sy. You know, the other fish?"

"Oh. Cool." We turned a corner and Sy began to walk a little faster, anxious to get wherever it was we were going. After a second, I asked, "But, uh, why did Con call you Dylan?"

"My mom's one of the primaries in the mer-people experiments," he said, unable to disguise the contempt in his tone. It was a tone I recognized all too well. "That's what she named me."

"Sy's cooler," I said reassuringly. He chuckled and we turned another corner. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"There's a garage with about five cars not too far from here," he said dismissively, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a set of keys and jangled them--I smirked when I saw the trademark Ferrari keychain. At least we'd have the advantage of speed. "All we gotta do is get there before somebody realizes we're missing."

It disturbed me how simply he put it. What, like he just sets me free, steals some keys, and we drive off all la-di-da like Bonnie and Clyde or something?

"I hate to imagine that's your entire plan. Does nobody watch these halls?"

"They've got security guards on surveillance," Sy said, nodding up to the black dome-like cameras in the ceiling. Eyes in the sky, just like Vegas. "But we're supposedly here of our own will. It's not unusual to see us walking around like this."

"But I thought I was all important and stuff. Won't they think something's wrong?" I asked, quickening my pace to walk by his side.

"Nah. We get trade-ins all the time."

"Trade-ins?" I repeated. "What the hell's a trade-in?"

"A kid from another branch," Sy replied, grabbing my sleeve to yank me down another hallway. "They'll sign you off as a visitor. It's not like Constantine's here to correct them."

"You mean Con?" I asked, grinning. Most people went by nicknames because they disliked their true names. I had a new weapon to use for all he'd done to me.

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, whatever. Hurry up, we're almost there."

Almost there. Almost out. . .almost free.

And yet. . .

I stopped in the middle of the hallway. Sy kept walking for a couple of seconds before realizing I was no longer by his side. He stopped and whirled around, confused.

"What are you doing?" he asked slowly.

"I can't leave yet," I said, a new plan forming in my head at a million miles an hour. If Con wasn't even here, I'd have the time and opportunity to screw him over in my own little way. We'd still be able to escape, just a little later than Sy had wanted.

"Ar-are you crazy? Why the hell don't you wanna leave?!"

"I need to get back at them for what they did to me. I wanna send them a _message _before I go. Get me?"

"Oh." Sy blinked, then smiled almost unexpectedly. "Detour, then."

* * *

that chapter seemed long. . .had to catch up on max, i guess, and _of course _spark had to escape (with the help of a totally random character i couldn't help but put back in).

'till next time, then. . .


	20. Chapter 20

i really meant to get this up sooner, but i got caught up in stuff like making chrusciki, going to my brother's last football game of the season, and other stuff. . .i haven't been home early enough to get online.

but I'm here now, and again, i thank all the creators of my beautiful anti-flock.

now it's _their _turn to be tortured (kinda)!! mwa ha ha!

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**20. room raiders!**_

"Hm. Connie, Connie, Connie, Connie Con. What shall I steal from you?" I said to myself, tapping my chin and limping around the room. Sy leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, keeping a lookout in the hallway.

Sy had so graciously explained that Con and his followers were super-picky and weird about people touching their stuff. (I shuddered at the thought that I was exactly the same. . .) If anybody tried to clean or organize or borrow something without their supervision, they went _nuts_.

So, naturally, here we were. In the Hall o' Anti-Flock Bedrooms. And I'd switched off my conscience.

"What are you going to do, exactly?" Sy asked, his deep blue eyes watching me carefully as I slowly walked the perimeter of the room.

"Stuff," I said absently, trailing my fingers over the wall. "Things. Stuff and things, things and stuff."

Con's was a normal-looking bedroom: simple blue walls, twin-sized and un-made bed, slight OCD cleanliness, a desk covered in papers and knick-knacks that held no obvious use. A calendar was tacked to the wall above the bed. I wandered over to the desk and started poking through papers.

Floor plans, sheets of paper covered in little black numbers and letters, sections of it highlighted and underlined in different colors. I picked up a page of green highlights and blue lines and scanned it quickly, none of it making sense.

"What're you looking at?" asked Sy curiously, uncrossing his arms and coming to my side.

"A stream of code," I said slowly, studying the parts Con had deemed important enough to highlight. My mind automatically began looking for a pattern, running through random keywords and substitution methods and any other code-breaking method I could think of. Some foreign words almost worked, but nothing made any sense.

"That's just stuff about his family," Sy said flippantly, turning to go back to his post at the door. I blinked before reaching out and grabbing the back of a necklace he was wearing, yanking him back before he'd gone two steps.

"Ow!"

"What do you mean, _stuff about his family_?" I asked, my voice forcibly even. Hey, if you were a mutant hybrid stolen at birth, _you'd _wonder about what could've been, too. And if you had even a chance of finding out, you'd wanna know too, wouldn't you?

"They kept files on all the donors," he replied, rubbing his neck where the necklace had chafed. "In case the experiments contracted a genetic disease or something."

"They know where all the parents are?" I said, my hand tightening on the paper in my hand.

"Even the failed experiments," Sy said, nodding. "References for what went wrong."

"How did you recognize what this was?" I asked, shaking the paper in front of his face. He batted it away in annoyance.

"It looks exactly the same as mine does," he said rather irritably. "All we gotta do is ask for 'em."

"You _ask_ and they just _give _it to you?" I repeated. "They just _give _you all the information about your family?"

"Well, they don't give us the key or anything," Sy replied slowly, shifting uncomfortably. "If we crack it, good for us. If we don't, who cares. We're supposed to be the _good _hybrids anyway. We're not supposed to want to leave."

"Do. . .you know who your parents are?" I asked, putting down the piece of paper. I hesitated, then swept the entire dead tree to the floor.

"I already said my mom's a primary, didn't I?" he said bitterly, leaning back against the wall.

"Well, yeah, but what about your dad?" I prodded. "Did you crack the code?"

"Some guy was here for a vacation sixteen years ago," he said quietly, averting his eyes. "He lives in Australia. Doesn't even know I exist."

"Oh." I was quiet for a second--what're you supposed to say to something like that?--before saying, "This all can't be just his parents, can it?"

Sy stooped down and picked up another sheet--this one covered in red and purple. He looked at it for a second before shaking his head. "Nah. It's his own stuff too. Old studies they did on him and stuff."

"How are you reading it?"

"I unlocked my file years ago." He shrugged. "I've looked at it so many times I can just tell now. Are we done in here yet?"

"Huh? Oh!" I shook myself and kicked at the piled papers, scattering them into an even more random pile. "No. First I gotta take something he's gonna miss, then I gotta spray-paint 'pwned' on his wall, and _then _I have to pretty much trash the place."

Sy rolled his eyes, smiling. "Sorry, Spark, but I didn't bring spray-paint."

"Dammit, Sy, how can you not bring spray-paint right when I need you to?" I demanded sarcastically, crossing the room to the little table by the bed. I yanked the drawer out and dumped its contents onto the bed.

"I'll put it on the list for next time."

_Hopefully, there won't _be _a next time, _I thought grimly, poking through the stuff that had once occupied the drawer at my feet. Pencils, pens, robot guts, notepads, paperclips, markers, cards. . .the list goes on and on. I found a black cord that looked suspiciously like a set of headphones and tugged. A slim blue iPod Nano pulled free of the mess, accidentally turning on. Rock music blasted out of the headphones and I smirked.

"This fits the bill, don't you think?" I asked, turning around and showing the iPod to Sy. An evil sort-of smile crossed his face and he arched an eyebrow.

"I would say so."

"And so would I. So Con, _you_ lose your iPod." I switched the music player off and stuffed it into my pocket before climbing up onto the bed. Sy sighed behind me.

"What are you doing _now_?"

I kicked the pillow off the bed and used my feet to muss up the sheets. I pulled the calander from the wall and flung it across the room; Sy ducked and it hit the wall with a _thwack_.

"I'm messing up his life." I came down off the bed and went to the closet, yanking t-shirts off hangers and tossing stuff all around the room. Once I was done, I grabbed a black jacket up off the floor (because, if you failed to notice, I'd left mine back in the little clearing before this whole craptastic thing had begun) and swept my arm carelessly over the desk once again, knocking the OCD-organized knick-knacks to the floor. "Let's find Blaze's room now."

Sy fell away from the wall and led the way out the door. "Just here," he called, easily picking the lock on the second door in the hallway. I put on Con's jacket and waited a grand total of six seconds before my fishy friend let me into the room of the person I probably hated most.

"Blazey, Blazey, Blaze." I clicked my tongue as I surveyed the room, which could've been a copy of Con's. Same shape, same setup, but with different wall color, different bedspread, and a slightly-more-organized set of papers on the desk. "You broke my wrist, fractured my skull, burned my neck, cracked my ribs, _and _nearly took out my liver. What horror can I bestow upon you?"

"She keeps an extra Smith and Wesson under her pillow," Sy put in helpfully. Now that he knew what I was going to do, he was ready to help speed the process along. "Was supposed to be yours."

"A _gun_?" I echoed in surprise, staring at him as I methodically crumpled family-code sheets and dropped them to the floor. "Why?"

Sy shrugged. "Your team's a bunch of thieves that sometimes require excessive force. Smith and Wesson's your weapon of choice."

"Well then." I went to the bed groped around under the pillow, quickly finding said weapon, fully loaded. I stuck it in the back of my waistband and did a little more rifling, finding an extra round of bullets to drop in my pocket next to Con's iPod.

I did the trash routine--mussing up of blankets, ripping of important papers, going through the closet and throwing clothes haphazardly across the floor. Standing in the middle of the room, I did a final sweep that let me catch sight of a black-and-purple object sticking out from under the bed. Naturally, I went over and pulled the thing out.

"Oh, no." I tugged the stuffed animal out of the darkness of the under-the-bed by its tail, a huge grin breaking out over my face. "This poor, tortured little thing."

Sy burst out laughing before clapping a hand over his mouth. I could see it in his eyes, though--_Blaze_, of all people, still brought her favorite childhood toy with her wherever she went. Oddly childish of one of the tougher bird-kids I'd met. I almost felt bad as I tucked the slightly charred, rather decrepit purple dragon under my arm, but then I remembered that she'd kicked the crap out of me.

Then I didn't feel so bad.

I whirled around and followed the still-shaking-with-concealed-laughter Sy out of the room and to the next one in the line: Swift.

I swung Blaze's poor dragon around by its tail as I circled Swift's room; like the others, it was simple, unnaturally neat and clean, and, above all, organized and easy to trash.

"Swifty, Swifty Talon. Didn't really hurt me _physically_, but that quiet stuff could be considered psychological warfare. So what shall I take?"

I glanced around the room, adding, "You'd think there'd be holes in the carpet from all that talony goodness with his feet."

"He keeps 'em kinda dull so as not to snag," Sy said. With a long-suffering sigh, he added, "Hurry up."

"Look, I know you want to leave, but I need revenge," I said defensively. _Now. . .Swift didn't annoy me _that _bad, but he _did _claw at me. . ._I rubbed my stomach at the painful memory before shoving a neat stack of paper into a trash can beside the desk. I flicked little doo-dads and thingamabobs from the desk's surface to the floor as I pondered about what I could possibly take from Swift.

"Don't ask me what he likes. That kid kinda creeps me out."

I snickered. "That makes two of us. Hey, look!" I picked up a small, flimsy black notebook and flipped through it, catching sight of tiny, cramped handwriting in blue ink. I tucked it away in the pocket of Con's jacket, then snatched all the writing utensils I could find and tossed them down the air-vent.

Then I spotted the teeny little laptop under the lamp on the bedside table.

I gave a little gasp. "Oooh! Me likey." I lifted the lamp and took the computer, holding it under my arm. It was probably a collective possession of Con and his friends, and it probably had a bunch of stuff on it, so taking it was a major score for me.

"You're ruthless," Sy said approvingly, holding the laptop as I strolled into Shadow's room. "They're gonna go freaking _insane_."

"I know. Innit great?" I tossed back, absently sending a stack of number-covered papers flurrying around the room. "Creepy little Shadow! What treasured memento will I borrow from _you_, you demonic little freak?"

"Hm. This thing's got a five-layer encryption," Sy said. I glanced back at him and saw he'd opened up the laptop, holding it open on one arm while the other hand tripped lightly over the keyboard. "Probably has digital files of all the stuff you're ripping up."

"Well, screw. That's making all my hard work pointless." I yanked Shadow's covers from the bed and whipped the pillow onto the desk, scattering a bunch of little trinkets and colored pencils.

"Not exactly," Sy said offhandedly, tapping his fingers on the side of the laptop, eyes fixed on the screen. "They printed everything out so they could separate it all. You're screwing with them."

"Good. That's my new. . .purpose. . .in life!" I replied, shoving the desk out of the way of the closet with some difficulty. I opened the door and started tossing clothes across the room, a motion I was actually getting bored with.

Sy snapped the computer closed and glanced at a watch I suddenly realized he was wearing. "Will you hurry up already? We've wasted half an hour."

"You shush. I must find something to thieve."

"Well, hurry up. I'm getting nervous."

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled as I poked through the scarce doohickeys in the bedside table. Soon enough, I found another little notebook, similar to Swift's. I opened it up at random and let my eyes rake over the incredibly detailed drawing of two blurry figures sitting on the edge of a cliff, hanging over a graying sea.

A little artist, apparently.

Into the pocket it went, along with the other trinkets from the hated anti-flock as I followed Sy to the last room in the line.

"Here's Avi."

For once, I hesitated. Avi alone had done nothing to me. She'd felt no resentment or anger, because we'd never met. Therefore, she had no reason to be violent. (Of course, Shadow hadn't met me before either, but that hadn't stopped _him _from kicking me in the shin. . .)

". . .Let's skip this one," I said dubiously. "Let's just go."

"What?" Sy stared at me for a second, bewildered. I bit my lip, then pushed past him and into the room.

"Actually, on second thought, give me a second."

I patted my pockets and found my dad's cell phone. I turned it on, ignored the twenty missed calls, and sent a quick text to my mom.

**disconnect this # EXACTLY 36 hrs after u get this txt. really important. i wont b home 4 a while. sorry. luv u all. ~nikki**

It was funny, but I'd almost signed it as _Spark_.

That didn't come off as a good sign.

But before she could text back, I turned the phone off. I found a pad of sticky-notes on Avi's desk and grabbed a pen.

_Call your family. This phone will not work in 36 hours from 8:49 pm Wednesday, August 6, 2008.* (ignore any texts or calls that pop up when you turn the phone on.) DO NOT TELL ANYBODY. DESTROY ONCE CALL HAS BEEN MADE. I'M TRUSTING YOU TO DO THIS FOR ME._

I missed my family too, okay? At least I'd had some kind of contact with them. And there was a slight possibility I'd get back to them one day. Avi probably didn't have either of those chances.

I stuck the note on the phone and left it right under her pillow, where she'd feel it when she next lay down on the bed. Then, without taking anything, I left the room, closing the door softly behind me.

"What was _that _about?" Sy asked, glancing between me and the door as I started to head down the hall.

"Nothing. Now shut your mouth and move your ass."**

* * *

*technically, that is the actual date in the story. roughly, anyway.

**ha ha. another saiyuki reference. only that one was to the anime (which isn't as good as the manga, but still).

whoo! i made it to chapter twenty! go me! yay!


	21. Chapter 21

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride

* * *

_**21. dare you to move**_

Third Person POV--Constantine

"This is bull-shit!" Blaze cried angrily, kicking a tree branch in anger. "How the hell did we lose them?!"

Con sighed, rolling his eyes. They'd lost the Cali group about an hour and a half ago, and everybody's frustration levels were running high as the sun continued its descent toward the horizon. Con was particularly annoyed with himself for letting Maximum Ride get away--he'd just never gotten close enough to use his power. His aim was as good as ever, but he hadn't even _grazed _her, for God's sake!

"We lost them because you guys all suck," Shadow mumbled, crossing his arms. The eight-year-old was tired and cranky, which wasn't surprising--circling the same two-mile radius of trees for almost two hours straight wasn't exactly the most fun thing in the world.

"We _lost _them because they're used to running away," Avi corrected, reloading her gun. "They escaped California twice, Florida once, and even Germany's headquarters. We've never faced anyone like them before."

"Ah, shut up!" Blaze snapped. "We _know _that! You don't have to actually say it!"

"If we don't figure out where they are, I'm going home!" Shadow threatened angrily, rubbing his eyes. "I'm tired and hungry and really, really pissed off!"

Con felt a tugging on his sleeve and looked back to find Swift hovering at his elbow. "What is it?" he demanded.

"Blood," the fourteen-year-old said quietly, pointing down at the forest floor. Con looked down and saw specifically what Swift had been pointing at: a couple of dark spots in the dirt, sporadically spaced out, as if the crimson liquid had fallen from a great height, at a great speed.

Con smirked. "Hey, Blaze," he called, casually reaching into his pocket for another round of bullets. She was soon before him, waiting expectantly as he reloaded his gun. "Look down there."

Blaze looked, saw the blood, and grinned wickedly. She whistled for Shadow and Avi. "Over here!"

As the two youngest mutants of Con's team turned around, Con said to Blaze, "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

Blaze laughed, holstering her gun. "Follow the red-speckled road!"

"Swift, follow the blood," Con ordered. Waving his arm, he added to the rest of his flock, "Fan out and follow Swift! They can't be far!"

Light was fading fast, but that didn't matter. Swift wove through the trees, eyes fixed on the ground as he followed the spattered trail of blood to the west, the others spanned out around him, searching for more obvious signs of the California recombinant group. After twenty minutes of tracking, Blaze spotted a rock formation to the south. Con signaled his team to land in the tops of a couple of trees about two hundred feet from the entrance of a glowering cave entrance.

"They're not too safety-conscious, are they?" Blaze said with a smirk, watching the cave entrance with hunger in her eyes. "Practically sitting ducks."

"So?" Shadow whispered, looking over at Con. "Do we attack?"

"Not yet," Con whispered back. "Wait until the fire dies. When they're asleep."

Max POV

"Well, well, well. Lookie what we have here."

I jackknifed into an upright position at the taunting voice, only to freeze as the back of my head hit the barrel of a gun. There was a soft _click_ and Nudge gasped.

"Don't move, Ride, or I splatter your brains all over this cave," a boy's low, calm voice told me.

"I-I'm sorry, Max," Iggy said with difficulty--a small boy with gray and white wings had a gun to his neck, an arm twisted up behind his back. Beside them, a girl with red-tipped black hair was pointing a blueish gun at a trembling Nudge. "I didn't hear them. . ."

My eyes swept the interior of the cave in a panic. Our little gun-toting friends had found us--five lean, hardened criminal bird-kids pointing five almost-identical revolvers at the members of my flock. One boy--about fourteen, with blond hair, he had Angel in a chokehold while he pointed his gun at Gazzy.

I glanced meaningfully at Fang, who was on his knees with his back to a girl a little older than us. Holding a gun rock-steady to the back of his head, she had spiky black hair with a red streak through it. Her eyes were blue, colder than Angel's, and flecked with burning silver speckles of light. She pistol-whipped Fang when he nodded at me, and fresh blood speckled the cave floor.

"And as much as I'd like to see your head explode, brains are a pain to clean up," the boy behind me continued, sighing. "They're sticky, see, and kinda gross, even for me. And blood's _so _hard to clean up off rock. So for once let my life be easy."

I mentally braced myself, trying to calm the adrenaline screaming through my body. I knew it wasn't the most brilliant thing to talk back to a gun-wielding maniac, but hey, when have I ever shown respect for my enemies?

"You'd bother to clean up my brain? How sweet. What's your name, by the way? So I can send you a thank-you card?" I asked snidely.

The boy chuckled. "There's no post office in hell."

I clenched my fists but forced myself to laugh once. "Ha! Silly me."

"Besides, who I am is none of your business," he replied coolly. "And I'd only _bother_ because hikers camp out around here in the summer. If they find anything, it means some _really _annoying hunt-and-kill cover-up for me and my friends."

"Can't have that, can we?" I said, my voice dripping sarcasm.

" 'Course not, it's a waste of bullets," he said cheerfully. But then his voice went flat as he added, "Now up. Against the wall. _Now_."

"All of you! Up!" the girl guarding Fang snapped loudly, yanking Fang up by the back of his shirt. She shoved him toward the wall of the cave, keeping her gun trained on him as she helped the little boy force Iggy to his feet.

"_Move _it, gimpy!" the boy shouted, clubbing Iggy in the back with the handle of his revolver. "Just 'cuz you're _blind _doesn't mean I won't kill ya!"

My guy gripped my upper arm tight and pulled me up roughly, shoving me toward my flock. Angel immediately wrapped her arms around my waist, fighting tears that threatened to spill from her baby-blue eyes.

"They wanna kill us, Max," she whispered into my windbreaker. "They're _gonna _kill us."

"No they're not, sweetie, I promise," I murmured back, stroking her head.

"Hey!" A shot cracked the rocks at our feet and Angel jumped away from me, shrieking. "No contact! Next time you touch you're dead!"

It was the littlest kid, holding the smoking gun with both hands. His golden hair was sticking up funny on the left side of his head, and his eyes were a flinty chocolate brown. He couldn't've been older than the Gasman, yet there he was, pointing a gun at me and Angel.

_He's killed people before, Max, _Angel thought at me, sounding panicked. _They all have!_

_Just stay calm, Angel. I have a plan._

Another shot made us all jump. This time it came from the other blond boy, the one who'd held Angel in a chokehold. His eyes were a hard, stormy gray, as cold and merciless as the hawk feet poking out from the bottoms of his dark blue jeans.

"Stop moving," he said quietly, weapon aimed at Iggy. There was a blackened mark in the cave wall a few inches from his head--the kid had shot off a warning. "Or I won't miss."

"All right, all right, stop scarin' 'em shitless," the eldest boy said, rolling his eyes, which were also a grayish color. He scratched the back of his jet-black head with the barrel of his gun. "Need I remind everyone of the job we're supposed to be doing?"

"Kill 'em, drag 'em to a bear cave, and leave 'em. It's not that hard to remember," the littlest kid reeled off. The girl next to him--who looked close in age to the hawk-footed boy and was aiming at Nudge--shuddered slightly, as if she alone didn't like the act of shooting innocent little bird kids like us.

I decided she was my favorite.

"And why do we drag them to a bear cave after they're dead?" the leader asked, loosely aiming his gun at me once again.

"So nobody finds any bodies," the hawk-footed kid answered.

"Very good." The boy quickly looked at Hawk-foot, Evil-child, Nice-girl, and Mean-girl in turn. "Blind, kids, black, Goth. Got it?"

They all nodded and I quickly figured out what he'd meant: Hawk-foot would kill Iggy, Evil-child would kill Angel and Gazzy, Nice-girl would kill Nudge, and Mean-girl would kill Fang. I would be shot by the leader. My fingernails dug into my palms at the thought.

"Hey, not to be rude or anything, but what am I? Cat litter?" Total demanded, poking his head out from behind Iggy's legs. "When am I gonna get some respect?"

The lead boy rolled his eyes and fired his gun; we all flinched once again. This was why I hated guns--they made whoever had them feel like they could do whatever they wanted.

Total yipped and retreated, cowering at Iggy's ankles. The other members of the maniac flock snickered cruelly.

"You are a _dog_," the boy said coldly, staring hard at Total. "It doesn't matter."

"Hey, you!" I said loudly, trying to catch his attention. His gray eyes slowly slid over to me and I glared. "How old are you? You think just because you have a gun you can do whatever the heck you want?"

He arched an eyebrow. "I _can _do whatever the heck I want, Ride. Now shut up or I'll prolong your suffering."

"Can I have a name to work with, at least?" I demanded. "If you're killing us anyway. . ."

Mean-girl groaned. "Oh, my God, why does it _matter_ to you?" Turning to the leader, she asked, "Can we just tally the points and get on with it?"

"I was just about to suggest it," he replied. "So? What do we see?"

"Fear," the girl said, raking her eyes over me and my flock. "Eight points."

"Anger," the younger girl said softly. "Six points."

"Bloodlust. Seven," the hawk-footed kid put in.

"And. . .resigned determination," the leader finished. "At least thirteen."

"That's thirty-six," the youngest boy said. He lowered his gun momentarily to count on his fingers. "That times six makes 216."

"That's the highest ever," the leader said. He smirked at me. "Congrats, Ride. You and your stupid family are the new high score in our enemy point system."

"Well, yay for us," I spat acidly. "What's our prize?"

"Hmm. How 'bout a quick death?" he offered.

"How about _no _death?"

"How about: that's not an option."

"How about: that's _always _an option!"

"Oh, my God, stop saying _how about_!" the girl groaned, taking aim at Fang. She pulled the trigger and my heart just about stopped.

Spark POV

"You wasted too much time," Sy said irritably, glancing at a watch on his wrist. "Dr. Westerfield might've realized I took her keys by now!"

"Well, you didn't try to stop me," I protested, quickening my pace to walk beside him. We were going as fast as we could without actually running, which would've immediately alerted the cameras to something wrong.

"Yeah I did! Multiple times!" he replied, his tone dancing on the edge of hysteria. "There's a better chance of us getting caught now! Half the scientists are leaving for home soon!"

"You _suggested _I hurry. You didn't physically try to stop me, so chill out!" I snapped, hitching up the backpack on my shoulders (I'd gone back into Blaze's room and stolen one to hold the laptop and the stuffed dragon). "We'll get out. I promise."

Sy laughed humorlessly. "_I'm _the one doing the rescuing, and _you're _promising _me _that we'll get out?!"

"Yeah, I am," I said firmly, but a combination of clicking and a weird droning noise made Sy freeze mid-stride. I stopped beside him, tension welling up in my chest. "What's wrong? What is it?" When he didn't respond, I smacked his shoulder with the strength I used for beating on a human. "Dylan Poseidon Fish-Person! Answer me!"

"Ow!" he grabbed his shoulder where I'd hit it and glared at me. "That hurt!"

"What the hell is the matter with you?" I demanded. "What's that noise?"

Sy blinked, then moved too fast for me to react. In a second he'd ripped the backpack from my shoulders and had my arm twisted up my back.

"Wha--ow!" I began to struggle. "What's the matter with you? Let go of me!"

"Someone's coming, you idiot!" he hissed in my ear. "If they recognize you. . .!"

It clicked, but I still struggled. Even when just acting the prisoner, I opt for the uncooperative kind.

"Westerfield!" a woman's voice called from the end of the hall. Sy stopped and yanked me around; I turned my face to the floor, peering up through my bangs at the group at the other end of the hall.

It was a white-coated woman with the type of red hair that made you think "carrot-top," with a freckled face and rectangular glasses, surrounded by at least six winged robot wolf-people. Flyboys, each with a machine gun welded to its arm, each with the same cold look of determination locked on its face.

"What?" Sy said aggressively, squeezing my wrist slightly.

"What're you doing with that experiment?" the scientist demanded, crossing her arms and arching an eyebrow at us. I had to fight a snicker at the striking resemblence in tone to Jan, the paranoid security guard from my high school. "Where are you taking it? And where are its tracking bracelets?"

"They malfunctioned," Sy said shortly. "I'm taking her to security for new ones."

"What about yours?"

"I don't need them. If you have a problem with that, take it up with my mother. Dr. Marein Westerfield, Aquatic Biological Research."

_Westerfield, huh? _I thought. He said he'd stolen the keys from that particular "doctor" just a little bit ago, so. . .he'd stolen the keys to his own mother's car. How devious.

"Wait. . ." I felt Sy stiffen behind me as the redheaded scientist took a closer look at me. "Isn't that. . .Experiment 4227? Subject Five, from the Chicago branch?"*

_Shit. _I tensed to run, but Sy's only response was, "Yeah, it is."

"Subject Alpha* gave orders that she wasn't to be touched!"

"Subject Alpha also gave orders for me to watch her and make sure she didn't escape," Sy replied coldly. "When I saw her disable and destroy her tracking bracelets, I wanted to be sure she had functioning ones right away. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an experiment to detain and a complaint to make." He pulled me around again and started forcing me down the hall, ignoring the appalled gasp from the whitecoat.

"W-Westerfield!" she suddenly shouted. "Get back here! Let me see the destroyed bracelets!"

"Screw this," Sy muttered, letting go of my arm. "Run!"

"Don't have to tell me twice!" I replied, breaking out into a sprint. He was right on my heels, soon dragging me down a left turn as the scientist behind us shrieked, "After them, you stupid bolt-buckets!"

I laughed as the weird humming of the Flyboys intensified. "That's one I gotta remember!"

"Down here!" Sy yelled, rounding another corner and racing down a hall with a bunch of doors.

"It's a dead end!" I shouted, slowing down when I saw the empty wall at the end of the hall. A sudden panic gripped my mind and I came to a stop. "Where the hell did you lead me?!"

"What're you doing?! Come on!" Sy cried, coming back to me. He grabbed my wrist and started to drag me along. "The garage is right here!"

I ripped out of his grip. "How do I know you're not lying? This's starting to look like a giant trap!"

"What are you _talking _about? I'm saving your life!"

"You have nowhere to run," a metallic voice said. Sy looked up over my head before grabbing my arm again, yanking me behind him. Flyboys--more than the six that had been with Dr. Carrot-top--crowded the hallway, at least a baker's dozen of guns pointed straight at us. A few little red lasers dotted Sy's chest and part of my arm.

I may talk big to super-human mutants, and I may write off supposedly "bad" or "authorative" people and laugh at stupid robots, but guns actually kinda scare me. One twitch of a finger and _bang_, you're hit. All it takes is a little pressure on that sensitive little trigger. . .

"Move back. _Slowly_," Sy muttered, taking a small step back.

A series of _clicks _made us stop again, and identical sneers appeared on the ugly furry faces of the wolf-bots.

"You have nowhere to run," the one closest to us said. The words came faster than the mouth could move, reminding me of a badly dubbed anime. "Come quietly and you will not die."

"The garage is the third door from the end," Sy whispered, delicately reaching into his. I felt the rearing horse of the Ferrari logo keychain being pressed into my hand. "It's the black two-door, plate 097-LSF."

"No way in hell I'm leaving you here," I mumbled defiantly, gripping the keys tight. He chuckled.

"Thought you didn't trust me anymore."

"You're being oddly heroic. It's almost sickening." He chuckled again and I quickly glanced back down the hall, trying to gauge the distance between us and the door. About twenty feet--a little far, but not far enough to be out of range of those stupid guns. There wasn't anything to hide behind, either--just a medical cart with a bunch of little bottles and beakers and syringes on top.

I spotted an empty outlet by the cart's leg and got a sudden idea.

"Sy." I lightly touched his shoulder and his head turned so he could hear me better. "If you can buy me ten seconds, we'll be fine."

"You can't dodge those guns," he said slowly.

"Yes I can, and so can you."

"I wasn't designed to fight."

"I'm not asking you to fight. I'm asking you to move really, really fast."

"Stop talking!" the lead robot snapped, raising his gun higher. One of the little red laser-dots moved from Sy's chest to his forehead.

"Just don't get shot." I whipped around and ran for the cart, hearing the howls of the Flyboys and the shots from the guns as the fight began.

Bullets whistled past me, piercing holes in Con's jacket and shooting off chunks of my hair. One of the robots hit a few of the lights in the ceiling and I was pelted with shattered glass as I ran. Sy yelled in pain, but I couldn't risk turning to check if he was okay.

I tried to skid to a stop by the electrical socket and slipped, crashing into the cart and sending everything that had been on it spiraling to the floor. Sliding through some fruity-smelling, bright green goo, I scrambled back to the outlet, quickly popping out the plastic safety-thingy as I saw Sy get a pistol-whip to the head out of the corner of my eye.

I pulled out a Swiss Army knife I'd nicked from Shadow's room and hesitated for a millisecond.

I'd never done this before, this thing I was about to do, and I was only eighty-three percent sure it wouldn't kill me. I mean, I was mostly human, and what I was about to do killed most humans.

But my name's Spark, right? I pull lightning from the sky and re-direct it to any place I want. I shouldn't be allowed to die from something as ironic as an electrical shock, should I?

"Sy, get down!" I shouted, slamming the knife into the socket and flinging out my left hand. My silver-haired friend hit the deck and I closed my eyes, the powerful surge of electricity exploding up my arm.

* * *

*if you can figure out the significance of spark's being "experiment 4227," the reason for her being "subject five," _and _the reason for con's being "subject alpha," then you get. . .um. . .well, nothing, really. unless you have a special request or idea for which way the story should go. . .

oh no! i left a cliffhanger! on both sides of the story!

will con and his anti-flock destroy the real flock?!

will spark kill herself trying to destroy the flyboys?!

is this the tragic end of my epic tale?!

which part do you want to read first?!

tune in next time to _when sparks fly_ for chapter 22: _live to fly another day_


	22. Chapter 22

sorry it took a while. i had some school- and hot-air-balloon-related issues.

but, in case you actually tried to find the significance of "experiment 4227," "subject five," and "subject alpha" from the previous chapter, i'll tell you now how i came to these numbers.

in my little ficlet, there are twelve bird-kids. counting backwards from angel (who is subject eleven), spark ends up being number five (because she is younger than con, blaze, max, fang, and iggy). con is subject alpha because i kinda ran out of numbers by the time i got to him (blaze is actually subject one).

and at first, 4227 was just a random number. then i wanted it to mean something and was going to change it when i realized 42 minus 27 is 15, which is spark's age.

so yeah. having a reason for every tiny little thing is rewarding.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride

* * *

_**22. live to fly another day**_

Spark POV

_MOTHER F*CKER!!_

Whether or not I actually screamed this aloud remains a mystery; all I really remember about that ten-second span after I oh-so-stupidly slammed a _pocketknife _into an _electrical socket_ was pain, howling, weird _fizzle-pop_ noises, and more pain.

I doubt any of you people reading this have stuck a knife in a light socket, so I'll try to describe it in a way you'll understand. And, just for fun, I'll separate it by gender.

Boys: kicked in _that _place. Repeatedly. With steel-edged heels by a pro athelete whose sport involves kicking.

Girls: natural childbirth to. . .octuplets? I'm not sure of the technical term, but that's eight kids in, oh, let's say ten minutes.

Better mental picture? Good.

The very first thing I was aware of besides the blind pain and ear-splitting howls and _fizzle-pop _noises was the bright sparkly lights dancing erratically over my eyelids. They felt too heavy to lift, so I focused on what I could hear and smell instead.

The Flyboys were obviously done with--burnt fur and melted plastic filled my nose as annoying clips of dialogue repeated themselves endlessly. A few seconds after the last _fizzle-pop_, a loud clanging fire alarm sounded and there was a _hiss_ as sprinklers in the ceiling activated.

Water snapped and turned to steam where it hit my skin; my arms were stinging like crazy, and the water only made it worse. I managed to squint through my eyelids long enough to realize all the lights had gone out--probably blown fuses and stuff. I could also see the sleeves of Con's jacket had completely disintigrated, and that there were new, angry black scorch-marks branded into my arms, outlined in flaming red burns.

I began to hear distant shouting. Pounding of feet. Slamming of doors.

Light footsteps slapped the wet tiled floor and a set of arms came around me, lifting me to my feet. My legs were like stumps of balsel wood--useless and clunky and capable of little movement. Actually, scratch that. My whole body was numb and tingly.

"That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen anyone ever do in my entire life!!" Sy snapped in my ear, pulling my arm over his shoulder so he could half drag/half lead me to the blessed garage. "What the _hell _were you _thinking_?"

I could barely move my mouth, so my witty comeback came out as incoherent mumbling. Not that he would've paid any attention to what I'd said, right?

"Then again, it _was _pretty cool," he added reluctantly. "You should've seen it. Wicked. And you totally destroyed them. So thanks."

There was a soft jingling of keys and two quick beeps as Sy unlocked the car. I collapsed into the passenger seat, leaning back against the cool leather and keeping my eyes closed as Sy came around to the driver's side, jamming the keys in the ignition and revving the engine.

There was a creaking, like that of a garage door, and then the car jerked forward. I let out a relieved breath.

_We're out._

(Granted, the actual escape was rather anti-climactic, but hey, I'll take a calm exit from a garage over jumping out a window any day.)

After a few moments of nothing but the purring engine and the smooth motion of Sy's driving, he asked, "You feelin' okay?"

I let out a short huff of air in an attempt to laugh. _Never better, actually. I should do this every day. Why? Don't I look okay?_

"Huh. Maybe that was a stupid question."

I smiled weakly. _Ya think?_

"You _are _alive over there, aren't ya?"

"Mm-hmm," I hummed, nodding my head.

He sighed, then gunned the engine. The car jolted and I could hear the straining of the wheels as Sy urged the sports car faster along the road.

"Those're some pretty wicked scars you're gonna have there," Sy said, as if he just wanted to break the silence. Bet this wasn't his idea when he'd pictured us escaping.

I nodded my head again, knowing I was about to conk out any second. You know the feeling--your eyelids keep sliding down, and you keep catching yourself mid-doze, and you just want to sleep. . .

Ignoring the protesting pain, I pulled my knees up to lodge against the dashboard, my feet barely dangling over the floor of the car. I reached to my neck for a hood, realized I didn't have one, and sighed.

"You can sleep if you want." I could tell by his tone that he was smiling. "I'll wake you up if we stop."

_If. . ._ I liked the sound of that. I didn't want him to stop for _anything_. I just wanted to get as far away from this stupid lake as fast as possible. I'd fly if I could, but--

My eyes flew open and I straightened in my seat.

"Spark? What's wrong?"

"Max," I breathed, staring wide-eyed at the never-ending road. Since when were we on a highway? And why didn't he have the headlights on? I shook my head--we were genetic hybrids. He was made to survive in the dark depths of the ocean, wasn't he? And I was a distant cousin of some bird of prey. Neither of us really needed headlights.

I blinked and looked out the passenger window. "I have friends waiting," I said to Sy, searching the skies. Like they'd magically be there, keeping pace with the car, waving at me. "They probably think I'm still there, in that place. . ."

"Well, that sucks," he said bluntly. "I'm not turning around."

I'd expected that. "You don't have to. Just pull over and let me out."

"What?!"

I winced at the volume of his protest (which I'd also expected). "Let me out. I need to find them." _They're probably somewhere around that same clearing, _I thought, turning my eyes to the horizon. If I squinted, I could just see the tops of trees. _I need to figure out where I am. . ._

"I. . .you. . .You just stuck a knife in a light socket!" he sputtered. "You could've killed yourself! I can't let you _fly_!"

"Birdies are stronger than fishies," I said absently, my eyes still fixed on the trees in the distance. "I'll handle it."

Sy snorted. "First of all, birds are _not _stronger than fish. I doubt there's a single effing _bird_ out there that can take on a shark."

He had a point there. "Well ex-_cuse_ me."

"And second of all, you can _not _handle it. You can barely keep your eyes open!"

He had a point there, too; as soon as I allowed myself to calm down, I'd be gone, far off in dream-land in less time than it took to laugh at the image of Max trying to fight off Erasers in a dress.

"Why are you _laughing_?"

I shook my head tiredly, unable to stop smiling. "It's nothing. Nothing."

Sy hesitated a few seconds, eyes flicking between me and the road indecisively. Finally, he said, "Just. . .forget it for a while. Before we do anything, you need to sleep." Eyeing my arm, he added, "And find some kind of drugstore so you can get cleaned up."

I sighed, closing my eyes and resting the side of my head against the cool glass of the car window. I could compromise with that because: a) I was tired; b) I couldn't think straight enough to argue any further anyway; and c) not even Max would be dumb enough to storm a place without a plan. She'd probably try to take a day or so to recuperate. I'd (reluctantly) use this day to rest up.

A little bump in the road made me lean away from the glass, my eyes tiredly glazing across the landscape again.

It was the middle of the night, and the moon was bright. A cold white light fighting darkness' might.

(Hey, that rhymed.)

Sy was right; my scars were a fright. It would take something quite to hide them from sight.

(I'm tired. Sue me.)

If only I could soar up to a great height--higher, higher than the highest kite.

(This is ridiculously fun.)

I'd fly though clouds of white, keeping focus tight, flying on back to my. . .my. . .oh, just screw it, all right?

(Whoa! Didn't think I'd pull that one off!)

But what I'm trying to say is quite simply this: I want to be back with the flock that I missed.

(I'm so terribly sorry. I just couldn't resist.)

I hoped they were fine. All negative two plus nine. I've rhymed for ten lines--is that not a sign?

(Stupid brain of mine. It's like I've been drinking wine.)

I'm starting to think this is going too far.

Wait a second, why did Sy stop the car?

Max POV

In the instant after the girl pulled the trigger, Fang disappeared.

The bullet hit the wall of the cave and I leaped forward, knocking the pistol from the youngest boy's hands. He punched me in the side, hard, as I whirled and delivered a kick to the younger girl, who shrieked in pain. A second later, the elder girl went crashing to the ground, Fang reappearing over her. The hawk-footed boy fired his gun, just clipping the top of Fang's shoulder.

"Everybody move!!" I yelled, twirling out of the way of a bullet. "U and A! Now!"

Total jumped into Iggy's arms as the Gasman dragged him toward the opening of the cave; guns were fired, but neither of them were hit as they jumped into the air, escaping into the black night.

"Kill them!" the leader shouted, pushing the hawk-footed boy toward the mouth of the cave. "Don't come back until they're dead!"

"Angel, get out of here!" I called, watching as she kicked at the youngest boy, who'd pinned her to the wall. I ducked a punch from the younger girl, delivering a roundhouse kick of my own to her chest.

Angel kicked the boy again and his gun went off, stopping my heart yet again. But it was the shooter who fell; Angel leaped over him, her white wings unfurling as she made for the exit. The little boy jumped up again, swearing as he staggered to the edge of the cave and followed.

"Fang! Make sure she's okay!" I ordered, grabbing Nudge's hand and starting to run.

Fang glanced at me for a second, delivered a last punch to the leader, and then leaped into the air, the darkness soon swallowing up his black wings.

"Max!" Nudge shrieked as a bullet flew between us. For the shortest second she weakened her grip on my hand, and in that second she was ripped away from me by the eldest girl.

I whirled around, adrenaline screaming in my veins, fists raised--then froze, realizing Mean Girl had Nudge in a chokehold, with the gun pointed straight at her temple. Nudge whimpered and the girl pressed the barrel of the gun harder against her skin.

The leader finally got his nosebleed (courtesy of Fang) under control, and was now staring at me, blocking the entrance, the blood on his pale face making him look as terrifying as any demon. At least his weapon was gone, though--I didn't see it on him, or anywhere on the floor, which could only mean it'd fallen over the side or had been taken by one of my own.

"You're pissing me off, Ride," he whispered, his voice soft and breathy. My eyes flickered to the other girl still in the cave--just to the left of her leader, she held her gun with both hands, aiming it at me. Her eyes were hard now, showing no emotion. She'd shoot me if she was given the order.

Which knocked her out of the "most tolerable" spot on the list of her flock.

The boy took a breath, smoothing away nearly all traces of his anger. But I could see it still flickering in his eyes, like lightning that didn't hit the ground on a cloudy day.

"I seem to have a knack for that," I replied carefully, trying to back away. There was a _click _and Nudge whimpered again.

"Max. . ."

"Shut up!" the girl snapped. She glanced up at the boy, eyes flashing between silver and blue. She moved her finger to the trigger of the gun. "Well?"

She wanted to pull it. She wanted to kill Nudge. But she wouldn't--not until the boss gave the go-ahead.

"Why do you have those guns, anyway?" I asked, playing for time. If I could maybe get to the younger girl, I could probably wrestle the gun away from her and turn _her _into _my _hostage. My mouth twitched, threatening to frown at the thought. What if these kids didn't care about each other as much as I cared about Nudge? It'd be pretty much the same situation.

There was still the off chance, though. . .

"Guns are quick," the boy replied evenly. "And our aim's pretty nice, too. We don't miss."

I cracked a smirk. "Huh. _That's _funny. You seemed to miss a lot earlier."

The boy frowned. He half-turned toward Nudge and the girl and I panicked, spitting out the first thing I could think of.

"Fight me!"

He stopped, eyebrows raising in disbelief. "What?"

"Fight me," I repeated, clenching my fists. "I win, you let us both go. You win. . .and you can take me."

"Max, no!" Nudge shouted, suddenly struggling against her captor. Tears began to roll down her face as she cried, "Please Max, don't! I don't want you to go back to the School! It's okay, you can leave!"

"Huh." The boy sniffed once, then dragged his sleeve across his nose, which had begun to bleed again. Then, rolling his shoulders, he said, "Okay. And when I win, you have to come without a struggle, or we _will _track down the rest of them and kill them one by one in front of your eyes. Deal?"

Five images flashed across my mind's eye--each member of my flock, shot through the heart, blood staining their shirts, the light leaving their eyes. . .

I shut down the pictures, hard, refusing to think about them. I wouldn't lose. I _couldn't_.

"Deal."

The boy cracked a smirk and I ignored Nudge's increasingly hysterical protests. Never taking his eyes from me, he said, "Girls. No intervention."

"Fine," the elder girl spat. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye and saw her finger leave the trigger, the gun barely tilting away from Nudge's temple.

The younger girl also lowered her weapon, mumbling, "Okay."

Third Person POV--Constantine

She was stupider than he'd thought--had it not occured to her that he might have powers? Special abilities that would aid him in battle? And had she not wondered what training--if any--he might have received over the years?

_Ah well_, Con thought, carefully observing Maximum Ride for any signal of attack. _Her loss_.

And it wasn't like he was staking anything anyway. Even if she _did _win (of which there was only the tiniest chance), he'd have Blaze hurt the black girl and force Ride to cooperate anyway.

"Whenever you're ready," he prompted, smiling at her. Her eyes narrowed in a glare and she sprung into attack.

He darted back, easily dodging the open-handed blow aimed for his face. Bringing his fist around, Con slammed Ride in the back of the head; she stumbled forward into the cave wall from the force of the blow. He aimed to crack a few bones in her back, but she spun around and kicked him in the ribs, using the wall as a springboard for the attack. Pain splintered in his chest, but he ignored it. As one of Julian Newell's collegues had once said, pain is merely a message, and you can ignore that message.

Ride launched herself at him again, eyes burning with fierce determination. She was fast--even though he was blocking her again and again, she was still able to land a few punches around his midsection. She even backhanded him once.

But unlike him, she'd never been forced to train in combat every day for ten years. He ducked under another punch and came up behind her, shoving her in the back while exploiting his power at the same time.

Ride cried out in pain, crumpling to the cave floor. Con flicked his head, sweeping hair out of his eyes and smiling coldly. The black girl was shrieking in protest, claiming he'd cheated and wasn't playing fair.

"Can it, kid," he said, rotating a shoulder Ride had managed to nearly dislocate. "Never said anything about no powers."

The girl began to sob, tearing her eyes away from Ride, who was writhing and whimpering in pain on the floor. His ribs throbbed slightly, so he increased the intensity of the pain in her mind, testing to see how long it took for her to scream.

After three entire minutes without anything higher than a shriek, Con ended the illusion. Ride's limbs went limp, skin faintly shining with sweat as she panted.

"I win, Ride. You're coming with us."

Her lips moved, but nothing coherent escaped them. So Con stepped up and went down on one knee, tilting Ride's face toward him. Her eyes opened weakly and he smirked.

"Deal's a deal, _Max_. You're coming with us whether you like it or not."

Fury flickered in the brown eyes like wildfire, but that didn't bother him. What _did_ cause his smirk to flicker was the way she suddenly tensed.

Then he was flying back across the cave, fresh pain blossoming across his torso. Faster than he'd been able to follow, she'd swung her legs around and kicked him again.

The back of Con's head cracked against the cave wall so hard his vision went white for a few seconds. Blaze's captive yelled Ride's name, happy she was up, but the noise became a scream as he heard the gun fire.

* * *

i think i had fun with spark's ludicrous rhyming.

i guess it was late--so i'm blaming the timing!

wait a second. . .crap, now i'm doing it too!

but whatever! guess what? that was chapter twenty-two!


	23. Chapter 23

i'm terribly sorry. that was two chapters in a row with cliffhangers.

ah well. at least it keeps you reading, right?

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride

* * *

_**23. close**_

Max POV

I saw the girl's hand pull the trigger, and I saw Nudge cringe at the blast, and I saw the blood, but what I didn't see was a dead Nudge crumpling to the floor.

The gun had been at an angle to begin with, and when the girl jumped back, dragging Nudge along, the end of the barrel went even more askew. Nudge's cringing helped as well; the bullet only grazed her scalp.

The girl cursed and pulled the trigger again, but there was a muffled _click_ and she cursed again.

"Goddammit!" She threw the jammed gun aside and began squeezing Nudge's neck. I launched myself at her, chopping my hand into the middle of her upper arm, causing the whole thing to go dead. Nudge thrashed and together we knocked the girl to the ground. She cracked her head on a rock and didn't get up.

I grabbed Nudge's hand and started dragging her toward the mouth of the cave again.

"Sh-shoot them, Avi!" the lead boy ordered, holding the back of his bleeding skull. The girl at the entrance to the cave--Avi, apparently--faltered, looking between us and her leader.

"Do it!" he snapped, but by then I'd pushed Avi out of the way and Nudge and I were jumping out into the air. A stray bullet whizzed through the night, but the aim was way off. Yells echoed in the cave and I glanced back, but nobody was following us.

I tilted over towards Nudge and brushed her wing with mine. "You okay, Nudge?" I asked.

She shook her head, hand pressed tightly to the wound at her temple. "I'm okay, Max. It only hurts a little." I gave a sigh of relief and she frowned. "Where d'you think Fang and the others are? I mean, we never planned on getting attacked, so it's not like we decided on a backup meeting place. . ."

I began to tune her out, wondering myself as worry began to grip my chest. Where would they go? It's not like we could keep flying around looking for them or anything.

We were separated more than we'd ever been before. Iggy, Gazzy, and Total had the hawk-footed boy after them; with luck they'd detonate a bomb of some kind and lose him. Angel was out on her own, being chased by a maniacal eight-year-old with a gun and no conscience; though she'd probably use mind control to incapacitate him and escape. Fang was just gone (hopefully trying to find Angel), and Nudge and I were on our own.

This sucked. Like, a lot.

"I think our best bet would be to head back to the original campsite," I said to Nudge. She nodded and I added, "Stop moving your head so much. We need to get back fast so we can take care of that scratch."

Nudge giggled. "It's _just _a scratch?"

"Yes, thank God." I rubbed my temples, attempting (and failing) to relieve my killer migraine. Nudge watched me, her expression turning solemn.

"What was it that guy did to you?" she asked curiously. "Was he, like, torturing your mind?"

"I _think _so," I replied, scanning the tree tops below us. We were nearing ones towards the fringe of the forest, and I began to bank in a wide turn. "But hey, I think I see a fire. Let's see if it's the flock."

That boy. . .not many things scared me, but he was starting to. Not only had his fighting been up to par, but that weird power of his, that made me remember every painful memory at twice the caliber was really, _really _not good. He hadn't used it earlier, so I could only assume it had some sort of range. Whenever we came across them again, we'd have to watch out for that.

I shuddered to imagine what the others' powers were.

I tucked my wings in as Nudge and I dove into the foliage, braking almost immediately to land in a tree and observe the scene below.

It was Iggy and the Gasman. Total was curled up by Iggy's ankles, wings tucked tight to his back. Gazzy had a strip of t-shirt wrapped around his wrist that hadn't been there before he'd left. Fang, Angel, and the boys who'd gone after them were nowhere in sight.

Nudge and I jumped to the ground, making all three of them start. Gazzy smiled in relief when he realized it was us.

"Hi, Max," he said tiredly. He yawned and rubbed his eyes sleepily. "You guys okay?"

"We're fine, Gazzy," Nudge said brightly. "Well, except I got clipped in the head, but it doesn't really hurt, and I don't think it's that serious, and. . ."

"Seen Fang or Angel?" I asked Iggy, kneeling down beside him at the fire. He shook his head as I began to rummage through the packs for a spare t-shirt for Nudge's head.

"Nah. That kid following us managed to hit Gaz in the arm, but then we blew a smoke bomb and lost him." He shrugged. "Thought we'd come back here to clean up and see if anybody was around."

"Good thinking. I'm sure Angel will pick up on our thoughts sooner or later and find us," I said, speaking to the Gasman and Nudge as well as Iggy. Nudge scooted over to me and I splashed disinfectant on the t-shirt before tying it to her head. She winced, but suffered through it.

"What about Fang?" asked Gazzy.

"I think he's with Angel," I told him. "I sent him after her when that little kid chased her out."

Total sneezed into the fire. "Those children have had some seriously bad influences," he said grumpily. "Not only did they have _guns_, but they were downright _rude_!"

I rolled my eyes; he was probably stuck on the fact that the lead boy had failed to mention him directly when he directed his own flock to kill mine. That is one conceited little dog right there.

"What's 'conceited' mean?"

We all jumped and turned toward the voice. Angel stepped out of the darkness of the trees, leading Fang by the hand and smiling angelically. She let go of Fang's hand and ran to fling her arms around my neck in a hug.

"You're not dead!" she cried happily.

"No, I'm not," I laughed, rubbing her back. I glanced up at Fang and he shrugged; I noticed the blood staining his black shirt even darker. "Why would you think I was dead?"

Squirming between me and Nudge, she said, "Shadow said they were gonna kill us all. I was reading his mind, and for a while I thought he was right."

"Shadow's that little kid?" Nudge guessed. Angel nodded, her blond curls catching the light of the fire.

"Uh-huh. The one that followed Iggy and Gazzy and Total was named Swift, and their leader's Con, and the older girl is Blaze, and the younger girl's Avi." Angel leaned against me, fiddling with the hem of her ratty t-shirt. Clothes just don't last as long as they used to, huh?

"Did you get anything about Spark?" Iggy asked. Total's head came up and the rest of us watched Angel in anticipation.

She frowned, trying to remember. "I think. . ." Tears slowly started to form in her baby-blue eyes and she sniffed. "They hurt her," she said softly. "They were hurting her a lot, because she r-ran away when she was l-little."

"Shh. Don't think about it," I said gently, brushing the tears from her face. She nodded.

"Okay, Max." She dragged a sleeve across her nose and sniffled again. "I think I know where she is, though."

I glanced at Fang, who'd been quietly treating his wound. He met my eyes and gave a tiny nod.

"Where, sweetie?" I asked.

"There're three connected buildings on the north side of the lake," she said firmly. "She's on the ground floor of the east one, in a room with a mirror."

"D'you know where the room is?" Nudge asked. Angel shook her head.

"No. All the halls looked the same in Shadow's head. I got confused."

I put my arm around Angel's shoulder and kissed her head. "That's okay, Angel. You did great."

She nodded tiredly. "Thanks, Max. Can we go get Spark tomorrow?"

I looked at my flock. They looked beat right now, but they all had the same glint of fierce determination in their eyes. Even Total looked ready to charge off as soon as possible.

"You guys think you'll be up for a rescue mission?" I asked.

Iggy rolled his eyes. "Of course we will be."

"I'd go right now!" Total added fiercely. "That is, if I didn't need to look after you kids for the rest of the night."

"Sure, Total," I said, smirking.

"So we're getting Spark back tomorrow?" Gazzy asked for clarification. I nodded and a collective sigh of relief rippled through my flock.

"Yeah. We're getting Spark back tomorrow."

Spark POV

"Why did you stop?" I demanded as Sy let the car idle at the side of the road. I'd meant for my voice to be irritated yet even, but I only managed a cracking whisper. Stupid electric shock.

"We were _speeding_," Sy mumbled angrily. "And I never hit the headlights."

"Cop?" I guessed.

"Don't say a word. You don't need to draw attention to yourself."

"Wasn't planning to," I whispered back. Sy let out a breath before rolling down the window. A police officer bent down, tilting up his hat as he shined a bright flashlight into the car. I turned my head away from the glare and heard Sy ask, "Is there a problem, officer?"

"Uh, yeah," the cop said slowly, as if we were stupid. "First off, you were driving twenty miles over the speed limit."

Given the rough average of a highway--sixty, seventy-five--that meant we'd been going almost ninety-five miles per hour. That was pretty fast for a car.

"Well, I'm past my mom's curfew, sir, and I didn't see anybody around. . ." Sy began, but the officer cut him off.

"_And _you were driving without your headlights on. Another car could've come along and crashed right into you. It's dark out here, kid. You're an idiot for leaving the lights off."

Sy's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Like I said, nobody's around. I can see pretty well in the dark anyway, officer."

The cop straightened up, pulling out a notebook. "I'll need to see your liscense and registration, kid."

Sy rolled his eyes, sliding down in his seat to--surprisingly---pull out a wallet. He pulled out a license and reached out to hand it to the officer.

"Registration?" the cop prompted dully, examining Sy's liscense.

I popped open the glove box and pulled out the only thing in there--a packet of registration papers. I raised an eyebrow at Sy, asking the silent question of _how the hell do you have a license?_, but he ignored me and passed the packet to the cop.

"Says here you're only. . .sixteen years and seven months." The policeman bent down to look at Sy through the window again, pausing to do the math. Jerking his chin at me, he said, "Can't have anybody in the passenger seat until a year after you have the license."

"You can if the person is family," Sy corrected, failing to disguise his annoyance. "This is my sister."

"Your sister." He sounded like he _really _didn't believe it. Hey, I wouldn't either. We looked nothing alike. And we were too close in age to be related. But come on--why couldn't he give us a break? Just once?

"Yeah, my sister. Can you just give me the ticket now?"

The man narrowed his eyes, flipping his notebook shut. Tucking it into a pocket in his shirt, he said in an official tone, "I'm going to ask you to step out of the car."

Sy let out a frustrated breath. "This is ridiculous."

"Really?" the cop asked, arching an eyebrow. Waving his arm back at his car--beckoning his partner, no doubt--he said, "Maybe it won't be so ridiculous when I haul your smart ass downtown."

"What? What the hell for?!" Sy demanded. "I haven't done anything!"

"Shut up!" I hissed. "He's only gonna. . ."

Glancing at the license again, the officer said, "Dylan Westerfield, I'm asking you to step out of your car. You're under arrest for obstruction of justice."

"That's stupid! I'm not obstructing anythi--_hey!!_" The policeman had opened the door and yanked Sy from the driver's seat, pulling him around to lay flat on the hood. Sy rolled his eyes at me as the handcuffs were snapped around his wrists.

"Hey! You can't do that!" I shouted, but before I could open my door, it was opened for my by the cop's partner. Unfortunately, as he dragged me around to the front of the car, he dragged me by the arm that I just remembered was broken (courtesy of Blaze).

"Ow, ow, ow, let go, let go, let _go_!" I protested, my arm spazzing out in pain. "My arm's broken, you retard! Let go!"

Ignoring me, the cop pushed me to the hood across from Sy and cuffed my hands behind my back. "This is stupid! Why the hell are you arresting us?!"

"Like I said. Obstruction," the first cop said. He pulled out a radio and smirked at me. "Maybe if your boyfriend here hadn't mouthed off you'd be heading home safe and sound."

"I am _not _going to jail for f*cking _speeding_!" Sy growled, low enough so the cops couldn't hear. "We need to get out of this! And _don't _blame me for getting us into it!" he snapped when I opened my mouth.

"I wasn't going to!" I hissed back. "I was going to say I'll hold them off while you get out of your cuffs and get the car started again!"

"Oh." He blinked, then smirked. "Whenever you're ready, then."

"Okay." I closed my eyes to brace myself, then kicked my leg into the knee of the man behind me. There was a weird _critch_ing noise and he fell to the road, howling in pain.

"Hey!" The first cop let go of Sy and raced around to his partner's aid. Sy darted back into the car, hands already free as he slammed the door shut.

"H-hey! Get out of the car!" the first officer yelled, pointing at Sy. I spun around and delivered a kick to his side; he grunted and went stumbling across the road.

"Spark, move it!" Sy yelled, revving the engine of the car. I whirled and slid into the passenger seat, pulling the door closed with my foot. The tires squealed in place for a second before the vehicle jolted forward, leaving the injured officers far behind in the headlights of their patrol car. I glanced back and saw the one still upright was by his partner's side, yelling into his radio.

"Huh. One idiotic count obstruction and two legitimate counts assault, on officers of the law, no less," I said to myself. "I always thought it'd be breaking and entering."

"You make a habit of commiting crimes?" Sy asked, pushing on my shoulder. I twisted around so he could access my cuffs.

"Ah." I winced in pain as we went over a slight bump, jarring my wrist. "Hey. Almost every kid on my block has been locked out at least twice. Other people know to call me when they need to sneak back in after they've been out all night." The cold metal restraints fell from my wrists and I faced forward again, reaching back to grab hold of my seat belt. "Thanks."

"Hey, you're the one who took 'em down. I owe ya. Again."

I winced as I fought the locked seatbelt, the strain paining my wrist. If I didn't get it set straight soon, we'd have to re-break it. "How'd you undo yours so fast?"

Sy shrugged and I noticed that his handcuffs were still dangling from his left hand. "They trained me to get myself out of these sorts of situations."

"Arrested for speeding?" I joked.

"If I'm ever captured and somehow detained," he corrected, rolling his eyes. But he was smiling, so it was good. "Never thought I'd get to use it against Salt Lake PD."

"Those cops were idiots," I grumbled, glancing at a road sign as we flashed past it. It read _Jackson, 18 mi. _Given our speed, we'd get to this alleged Jackson in, oh, maybe five or six minutes.

"Well, yeah. All cops are," Sy replied. Almost as an afterthought, he flicked on his headlights. I snickered and he said, "I don't wanna get pulled over again!"

"Yeah. Uh-huh." Sy slowed down, bordering the speed limit as we began to pass outskirt buildings of Jackson, Utah. He went off an exit and through a green light just as it switched to yellow.

"Hm." We were now cruising along at thirty-five mph, winding through sprawling streets lined with mom-and-pop shops. "There _has _to be an impersonal chain around here, right?" Sy asked.

"Right, right!" I said, pointing. Sy spun the wheel and we turned down a larger, semi-crowded road; about half a mile down to the left was a Wal-Mart. We passed a black-and-white and a thought hit me. "We need to ditch the car."

"Huh?" Sy asked, flicking on the blinker and swerving to the left, into the Wal-Mart parking lot.

"We need to ditch this car," I repeated, scanning the cars in the lot. "Those cops back there got our liscense plate. They might try to track us down."

"As much as I doubt that, we need to get you taken care of," Sy replied absently, swinging diagonally into two parking spaces at the front of the lot, near the door. "Just _looking _at you is freaking me out."

"Gee, thanks." I rolled my eyes, a weird tingle running up the length of the scars. "Nice parking, by the way."

"If we're ditching it anyway, why does it matter?" he countered, rolling up his window. "Besides, you didn't see it happen. My heart almost stopped when you stabbed that outlet."

"Well, sorry for saving your life."

"I'm not ungrateful," he said irritably. He switched the car off and got out; I was right behind him, grabbing my stolen backpack from the floor on a whim. "It's just. . .you could've killed yourself. For me."

I slammed my door and looked at Sy over the roof of the car. "It was that or we both get caught. And I, for one, was _not_ ready to let that happen."

He rolled his dark blue eyes yet again. "Let's just get what we need and leave, okay?"

I started to say "Fine" when a thought hit me and I hesitated. "How're we gonna pay for anything? Unless you're intending we commit another crime tonight."

"Will you just come on?" he groaned, starting for the entrance. When I hovered by the car, he pulled another card from his pocket. A platinum credit card inscribed with the name _Marein S. Westerfield_. "We're covered. We can get whatever the hell we want."

"What if they track it?" I asked suspiciously. But I slung the pack over my shoulder and began to follow into the building.

"Itex-issue. Can't be traced."

_They think of everything these days, don't they? _I thought as we entered Wal-Mart. I blinked at the fluorescent lighting, hugging my arms as the air-conditioning made me shiver.

It seemed so. . .so. . .so _mundane_, so _normal _to be walking around the Wal-Mart with Sy, trying to find the first-aid aisle. And so soon after our escape, it was _definitely _weirding me out, almost making me feel as if we were wasting time.

"Where the f*ck is it?" I whispered under my breath, meeting the wary eyes of yet another alarmed shopper. I tried to hide the burns as best I could, but just crossing your arms and attempting to hide behind a silver-haired stick of a person didn't work too well. "People are staring."

"I've never been in one of these places before," Sy snapped, peering down an aisle lined with canned foods. "How the hell am I supposed to know how to navigate?"

"I don't know, but let's just hurry. I'm getting all freaked out and jumpy." I glanced up at an aisle directory and saw _first aid, 13_. I then checked our current aisle--26. The one beyond it was 27.

"Dammit, we already passed it," I mumbled, turning on my heel and stalking back down the store. Sy soon caught up to me and touched my shoulder.

"Just chill out, all right?" he said quietly, ignoring a couple of teens who were pointing obviously. "We'll get you cleaned up, find a place to crash for the night, and then go find your friends. Okay?"

I took a deep breath and turned down the thirteenth aisle. "You're right. I'm just. . .really, really hyperactive right now."

"You stabbed a light socket," Sy said simply, grabbing a few rolls of gauze from a shelf. Taking a roll of medical tape, he added, "I think you're allowed to be hyperactive."

I scanned the shelves and picked up a wrist brace, then a box of alcohol-wipes and some multi-sized band-aids. Sy found some burn-treatment stuff and we headed for the self-check-out registers.

"So y'think we can find some poor kid to trade right out there in the parking lot?" I asked, putting my hands in my pockets as Sy swiped his mother's credit card. He shrugged, tearing the receipt from the printer and grabbing the one bag.

"Doubt it. But we'll have to try, right?"

Ignoring the over-friendly greeter employee at the door, we headed out of the store. I automatically scanned the lot, doing a double-take when I saw a kid in ratty jeans lingering by our car, looking at it longingly. He was Hispanic, with his hair pulled into a little ponytail, and couldn't've been more than sixteen years old. I nudged Sy and he looked.

"How lucky is that?" he mumbled.

_Almost too lucky,_ I thought. But in my tiredness, my brain had been systematically powering down, and the conscience had been one of the first things to go, followed almost immediately by common sense and logic. So I put on a fake smile and addressed the kid looking at the Ferrari.

"Hey, dude," I said brightly. He started and looked at me. His eyes flickered toward my scarred arms and he blushed.

"Uh, h-hey," he mumbled. He gestured toward the car. "Nice ride."

"Thanks." I hesitated, glancing at Sy, and he nodded. I took the keys from his hand and jangled them in the air. "You want it?"

The boy stared at me in disbelief. "Wh-what?"

"It's too small for me. I have to start driving my brother and his friends places and I need a bigger car. What do you drive?"

Eyes wide, he stuttered, "A-a '96 F-Ford Exp-plorer."

"That's a big car, right?" I asked stupidly, looking at Sy. He nodded and I turned to smile at the kid in front of us, who couldn't believe his luck. Silly little sap.

"So, wanna trade?" I offered, jangling the keys again.

He blinked a few times and dropped his eyes to the ground, thinking it over. "I-I don't know. . .my mom might freak out. . ."

"Hey, if she has problems with it, just bring it back," Sy said easily. "We're in the book under Marein Westerfield. Ask for me, Dylan." He shared a knowing look with me and it was all I could do to keep a straight face. Poor, poor Dr. Westerfield. Her precious Ferrari, traded for a '96 Explorer.

"W-well. . .you're serious?" he asked warily, slowly pulling his own keys out into the open. "You want a blue '96 Explorer for a black '08 Ferrari?"

"Totally," I said with complete sincerity. "Like I said, this one's too small for us. An Explorer would be perfect."

"But. . .you could get so much if you sold it. . .or you could get a better trade. . ."

Why couldn't he just take the damn car? "Well, um, we didn't want a lot of paperwork or anything," I lied. "Just a simple trade, right?"

"Well. . ." The boy slowly started to remove a single pair of keys from the mess of keychains on a ring. "If you're really, _really _sure. . .?"

"Yeah." I stepped forward and took the keys from his hand, exchanging them with ours. "Thanks so much, dude. Did you need to get anything from your car before we take it?"

Staring wide-eyed at the Ferrari, the boy slowly shook his head. "Nah, man. Just take it."

"Sweet. Let's go," Sy said, craning his neck to look down the aisle of cars. "Is it that one on the end, right next to the cart-space?"

"Y-yeah. . ."

And without further ado, Sy and I ditched the Hispanic boy and his new Ferrari and quickly found the blue Explorer, piling in and peeling out, back into traffic. The car smelled faintly of stale fast food and pine tree air freshener; not a pleasant combination. But it had almost a full tank of gas and handled great, so I leaned back in the tan passenger seat with a sigh.

"I can't believe we just did that."

"Neither can I. Some people can be really, _really _gullible," Sy agreed. He picked up the Wal-Mart bag from where he'd dropped it on the floor and put it in my lap. "Here, start cleaning up. We'll chill here for the night, then head back for your friends."

I started smearing the burn-stuff on my right arm, wincing whenever I jarred my wrist. "You don't have to come, you know. I can just fly back on my own."

"You almost killed yourself taking out the robots," Sy said stubbornly. "I owe you."

"You got me out of that stupid room," I countered, wrapping my right arm in gauze. After taping it off, I slipped on the wrist-brace and fastened the Velcro straps. "Even."

"You took out those cops. Owe you."

"You. . .paid for all this medical stuff. Even," I replied, covering my left arm with the burn gel/paste stuff. "Plus, you're doing all the driving. _Plus_, you undid the handcuffs and suffered through my desire to trash Con and them's rooms. Even." Sy took his eyes from the road for a second and glared at me, but I ignored him, bandaging my left arm and continuing my dialogue before he could argue again. "Besides, I can get there faster if I fly. And we'll probably head out right away. You don't have to come with me." I taped my bandage tight and dropped the medical tape into the empty cup holder. I leaned back in my seat, feeling much better now that my horrific-looking scars were covered up. I still had some cuts and scrapes to deal with, but those could wait a couple of minutes.

Sy sighed, pulling into a church parking lot. I glanced around and noticed all the motel signs in the area that I could see read _no vacancy_. Sy switched off the car and undid his seat belt, leaning back against the driver's side door and fixing his dark sapphire eyes on me.

"Look, Spark, you're pretty much stuck with me right now. Until you're with your friends flying off to God-knows-where, I'm going to be there to make sure you don't do anything stupid. And to make sure Constantine doesn't kill you."

How. . .oddly sweet. "Why are you so protective?" I asked suspiciously. He blinked, then moved again so he was facing forward. Crossing his arms, he shrugged.

"I dunno. Maybe 'cuz you're the one I escaped with. I don't want either of us to go back there." He closed his eyes and slouched down in his seat. "Now leave me alone. I'm going to sleep."

I watched him for a while, until his breathing evened out and I was sure he was really asleep. Then I spent a few minutes cleaning my cuts and scrapes with the alcohol wipes, trying to be as quiet as possible.

I looked at Sy's watch, then at my own. It was just about midnight.

I held my breath and silently packed half of the remained medical supplies into my stolen backpack. Then I eased open the door of the car. I pushed down the lock again and pressed the door closed. Through the window, I saw Sy was still sleeping.

Letting out my breath, I turned my back on the car. I checked my surroundings to be sure I was alone, then lowered the pack to the ground and shrugged what was left of Con's jacket from my shoulders. I pulled out a pocketknife and slit holes in the back for my wings. Then it was back on with both the vest and the bag and into the air.

I felt a little bad for leaving Sy like that, but it had to be done. I didn't want to risk his freedom so soon after he'd achieved it.

So it was alone that I began to fly back to Salt Lake in search of Max and the rest of the flock.

* * *

geez. long chapter. third-longest so far, in fact. (the longest was chapter 19. then it was chapter 8. in case you were wondering.)

and most of it was written after two a.m., as i watched _beauty and the beast_ and _aladdin_. . .only got two hours and fifty minutes of sleep last night. (and yet somehow i've never been more alert.)

anyway, hope you liked it!


	24. Chapter 24

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**24. scatter-shot**_

Once I was up in the air, I felt an odd sense of calm overtake me, despite everything. Just to be _up_, to be _flying_. . .it unwound me. And it was awesome.

That is, until once-forgotten-but-recently-retrieved memories flooded my mind. Every second, a new thing I hadn't realized I'd known would pop up, and I'd be all like, _whoa, I can do that?_

So far, I've remembered that I can successfully hack government computers without leaving a trail, crack safes, understand a whole crapload of nautical stuff, fix up most types of vehicles, speak semi-fluent Russian, and sign in three languages.

And that stuff was cool, but I didn't like that I remembered _them _now. Con, Blaze, and Swift. In fact, I hated it. It made me feel all _connected _and in touch with my _feelings _and whatknot. Especially the weird twist in the pit of my stomach. That particularly was pissing me off.

Why? Because it was a twist of _guilt_. I think I almost felt _bad_ that I'd left Con, Swift, and Blaze behind all those years ago.

And I _never _feel bad. About _anything_. Like, I could lie to the goddamn Pope in the middle of the Vatican with a totally straight face and not feel a thing. Being a bird-kid meant I'd had to accept lying as a part of my life. Excluding my immediate family, I've lied to almost every single person I've ever had a substantial relationship with.

Plus, I had more-than-just-bummed feelings about ditching Sy. He was gonna be _so pissed_. If I ever ran into him again, he was gonna kick my ass. Given the chance, he could probably be my best friend. Seriously. Because not only was he a hybrid himself, he was also one of the most genuine guys I'd ever met.

There was a high chance that I'd never see him again, too. I'd miss him.

Somewhere around twelve-thirty, I spotted an out-of-the-way twenty-four-hour gas station and landed behind it, my stomach growling. I'd found a sizable wad of cash stuffed in a pocket of my backpack, so I went inside the Kwik-e-Mart and raided the unperishable food aisle.

"Need any help, miss?" a voice behind me asked. I jumped about a foot, dropping my basket of candy and soda. There was a poorly-stifled snicker and I looked over my shoulder at a slightly haggard teenaged boy with bloodshot eyes and a stink of smoke about him.

"N-no, thanks," I muttered back, picking up the stuff I'd dropped. He examined what I had and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Sugar-high, much?"

I ignored him, grabbing some small bags of chips and a four-pack of red RockStar.

"Or are you here on a food-run for a party?"

"Both," I snapped. "Can I pay for it now?"

He shrugged and pointed toward the register, where a Goth-looking girl was flipping through a magazine. I dumped my dentist's nightmare in front of her and she gave me the weirdest look before commencing the scanning. (I would tell you everything I got, but I'm afraid just _thinking _about it would give you cavities.) Once I was outside, I downed a RockStar and a stomachache of junk, packing the rest away into my bag before retreating out of sight of the windows and taking to the air once again.

I didn't want to sleep. If I started to sleep, I'd dream. And if I dreamed, all the jumbled, guilt-ridden memories of Con, Blaze, and Swift would overwhelm me. And that was something I did not need right now. So I just kept flying, faster and faster until I was streaking along at a hundred and thirty miles an hour.

That's what RockStar, Snickers, Twix, Skittles, Milk Duds, SweetTarts, Cheetos, and spicy Lay's will do to a bird-kid running on painkillers and no sleep.

Sugar highs are great, man! Especially when you're super tired! They make you all giggly and hyperactive and random and then youstartramblingandtalkingsofastthatotherpeoplecanbarelyunderstandyouandit'slikeyou'redrunkandyou'rejustsojitteryitmakesyouwannaseeifyoucanflyaroundtheworldinasinglenight!!!!

(And the best part? It takes me _hours_ to get back to normal!)

I reached familiar territory around one-forty-five, braking at such high speed I tumbled backward mid-air. Laughing hysterically, I spun around, searching for the forest where I'd set up camp with Max and the others. I quickly spotted it and sped towards it, overshooting in my energy. I circled back, my eyes darting around for any sign of smoke or a fire. Finding none, I dove a little, and started going around again, squinting through the branches of the trees.

I thought I saw a faint glow somewhere off to my right, but after I rubbed my eyes, it disappeared. I shifted my weight and began to bank, heading for it anyway, when there was a sharp _crack!_ and a bullet whistled past my ear.

_Shit!! _I veered upwards, looking in every dark hole in the trees for my would-be killer. There was a small glint and I dodged before the second bullet could lodge itself in my heart.

"How the hell did you miss?!?" came an angry shout. Five dark shapes burst out of the trees and began to give chase. More and more bullets shot through the air, missing me as I zigzagged down to the cover of the trees.

"Screw, screw, screw!" I muttered, wincing as branches and twigs slapped at me. I heard the crashing as the anti-flock--for who else would it be?--came down into the forest. Bark snapped off of trees as I ducked under them.

"Hey, Con! That's not Max, it's Spark!!" I heard Shadow holler. The shots increased in rapidity as more than one of them cursed.

"How the f*ck did she escape?!" yelled Blaze.

"Shit!!" I yelped as a giant ball of flame grazed the back of my wing. I dipped down before shooting back up into the highest branches of a tall pine tree. I tucked in my wings, pressing myself back against the trunk of the tree, hissing in pain as the bark and needles poked at me. I struggled to calm my breathing and shut my eyes, straining my ears to listen for them.

Soon enough, the dull _thud_ of wings came closer and slowed, and the frustrated tones drifted up to my ears.

"How the hell did she get out?" Con demanded. There was a _thunk _and the tree shuddered; Con had hit it in frustration. "I thought someone was watching her!!"

"Well, apparently not," Avi replied dully. "Because that _wasn't _anybody from Max's flock."

I pressed myself harder against the tree, desperately trying to figure out a way to leave without them knowing. In doing so, I felt the cold metal of the gun I'd stolen from Blaze's room dig into the small of my back.

I had a gun, too. I felt for it and pulled it out, my hand (the left one, because the right was encased in the wrist-brace) shaking from sugar-rush and indecision. I couldn't shoot them, could I? Despite the fact I couldn't see them. . .

_"Uggh!" _Blaze cried. The scene below lit up for a few seconds as she let fly another ball of flame. I peered down over the edge of my branch and saw the five of them hovering just below my hiding place.

And, as luck would have it, Swift glanced right up at me.

_Shit_.

"Con!" Swift said loudly, pointing up. He fired his gun before Con could look up for himself, and the shot grazed my elbow.

"Ahhhh, _f*ck!!_" I dove off my branch, promptly forgetting I had a gun of my own in my hand and snapping out my wings as soon as I had room. I tore straight through the anti-flock, getting a few more nicks here and there as I strained to fly faster. I circled back when I saw a giant rock formation, wondering if there was someplace I could lose them.

But they stayed right on my tail, throwing bullets and fireballs. I felt Con try to break into my mind to torture me, but the distance seemed to be a factor and I didn't feel too much pain.

I tried to shake 'em, I really did, but then they caught up to me in a spacious part of the forest not too far from the rock formation I'd spotted earlier. Con zapped me with some torture and I nearly fell from the sky, clinging to a tree and sliding down about twenty feet.

"Nowhere to run, Sparky," he taunted, reloading his gun. Blaze shot the tree right above my head and I flinched, sinking down a couple more feet. She laughed.

"I don't know how the hell you got out of there, but we're taking you back one way or another!"

"Hey. . .hey, Blaze, she's got a gun!" Shadow suddenly said, pointing. I glanced down at my hand, saw he was right, and cocked the gun before aiming up at them. Bracing my left wrist with my awkward right hand, I pulled the trigger.

I missed, of course, because they all saw it coming and scattered. I pushed away from the tree and started weaving through the forest again, my left arm tingling, my heart beating faster and faster.

I'd shot a gun. Deliberately tried to kill somebody. It was. . .too weird to think about.

A bullet zipped over my head and hit the tree in front of me. I braked and twisted around, my entire body tensing as I saw Con, Blaze, and Swift catching up to me. Shadow and Avi were only a few seconds behind them.

I streaked beneath them, getting hit in the elbow and shoulder as I passed. I retreated to the rock formation and desperately began to search for a hiding place.

Shots peppered the stone and I spotted a defendable spot about half-way up the rock face. I dove into the sliver of a cave, pulling in my wings tight and glancing around for something to use as a shield. I found a rather wide hole and peered down it. Dim moonlight glowed up from the bottom and I realized it was a hollowed-out shaft. I took a breath and lowered myself into it, bracing my legs and back against the sides so I wouldn't fall straight out.

After my heartbeat slowed a smidge, I twisted slightly so I could see up over the edge of my hole. I aimed my gun and fired again, grazing Con's shoulder as he and the others tried to close in on the cave. He retaliated, but I got out of the way quick enough to miss it. Then I stupidly jumped up, back into the air and their firing range. As childishly as possible, I stuck my thumbs in my ears and waggled my fingers, blowing a raspberry with my tongue and crossing my eyes at Con. I narrowly avoided being shot in the face, but I just laughed 'cuz I knew it'd annoy him.

I think the part about me actually wounding him with a shot had suddenly tipped me over the edge. I was all hyperactive and jittery and hysterical again. Was I in searing pain? Sure. Was I terrified that I'd be killed? Of course. But it all seemed. . .beneath my concern, somehow.

"Missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me!" I taunted. Blaze raised her gun and I twisted in midair to avoid the bullet.

She snarled when she missed and shouted, "How about we just kill you instead?!"

I tapped my chin, as if thinking, then retreated back into my hidey-hole as Shadow got off a shot at me. My voice had a slight echo as I shouted out to them.

"Sorry, Blaze, but if I allowed myself to be killed by you, I'd have to come back from the dead and kill myself." I covered my head with my arms as fire exploded inside my niche, laughing as I did so.

I was alone, literally scared out of my wits, and had absolutely nothing more to lose. Obviously Max and the others were safe, due to the fact that the entire anti-flock was here after _me_, and Sy was asleep in some church parking lot hundreds of miles away. There was only me to look out for, only myself to put in danger, and only my life to lose. All this put together made me the easiest target ever or the most formidable opponent ever.

And due to the fact that I was still alive and kicking, I went for the latter.

I reached up over the rock and got off another shot, this time toward Swift and Shadow. They both dodged, and I heard a rather loud ringtone sing from somebody's pocket. Con pulled out a cell phone and drew back.

_"What?!" _he snapped. _"Were kinda in the middle of something here!!"_

It took me a second to realize he'd spoken in Russian, and another second to realize I'd understood it. I glanced down and saw once again the opening below me. Quickly but carefully, I slid further down into the hole in the rock, my mind absently making a comparison to Santa Claus sliding down a chimney. Ignoring the minor scrapes I received for my trouble, I waited at the bottom of the shaft, listening in on Con's half of the conversation.

"I know she escaped, she's right here in front of me!!" he yelled into the phone. Bullets bounced off the rocks above me, where they thought I was still hiding. "Who the hell let her out?!"

"Aw, Con, I take offense to that!" I called. I flinched as more fire raged into the hole, both above and below me. They must've seen the other opening and figured out I could move around. "What makes you think I didn't get out all by myself?"

"Westerfield? What's he--oh, you gotta be _kidding _me!"

Damn--they knew Sy was gone, that he'd helped me escape. The guns fired with more intensity, but, after a few seconds, stopped rather abruptly.

"Spark!" Con shouted. "Get out here right now!"

"Con!" I yelled back. "Go f*ck yourself!"

I heard a couple of snickers and felt myself smile in satisfaction. That smile disappeared, however, as my sanity snapped and I was in sudden, intense pain. My legs pushed hard against the rock and I scrabbled to grip something so I wouldn't fall. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, so hard that tears came to my eyes and I tasted blood.

After what felt like an eternity, it ended. My broken arm was screaming in pain. Little waves of electricity kept dancing up my arms and my burns felt like they were on fire all over again. My legs were trembling with the effort to keep myself suspended in the shaft. My inevitable sugar-crash was early this time: more than anything I wanted to get away, have a hot shower, find a bed, and just sleep. . .

Tears slid unbidden from beneath my eyelids as I rested my head back against the rock. It was just. . .it was starting to be too much. Why couldn't I just give up?

_I don't want either of us to go back there._

I opened my eyes as Sy's words returned to me. He'd risked his life to get me out, then suffered through my time-wasting and dragged me to the car after I nearly killed myself destroying the Flyboys. If only for his sake--and Max's, and Fang's, and the others'--I wouldn't stop fighting until after I was dead.

I took a breath, a vague plan forming in my mind as I cracked my knuckles and stuck the gun (which, miraculously, I hadn't dropped) into my waistband. I still had one weapon I hadn't used yet: my lightning. If I had enough energy left (and I think I did), I'd muster up some electricity and throw it up to the top entrance to distract the anti-flock. Then I'd wiggle out of the bottom opening and get the hell outta there.

Simple, timeless, and easy to remember. Almost as good as yelling, "Look, a distraction!" Just not as funny.

I held my hand palm-upwards, my two seasons of club baseball returning to me as little sparkles of electric light pooled in my grasp. There was no way of judging where Con and the others were, so after a few seconds I chucked my ball of lightning upwards and dropped down the shaft.

To my surprise, the simple ruse actually worked. Fire and bullets rained into the top half of the shaft as I shot out of the bottom, flapping my wings as fast as I could to get to the cover of the trees. I heard a shout behind me, and a couple of stray shots nicked my jeans, but I was gone, gone, gone, baby. I flew in zigzags through the trees for a few minutes before dropping to the ground near a stream. I found an overhanging rock and ducked under it, breathing as quietly as I could as I stood in the ridiculously tranquil little pool.

My entire left side was tingling and trembling with that woken-up-limb feeling. My teeth began to chatter as the freezing water seeped into my shoes, the cold raising goosebumps all over my skin. After factoring in my head start, I counted to twenty, as a good soldier should, before cautiously stepping out from my hiding spot.

No sign of them. No sign of them _at all_.

I could've laughed in relief. But rather than alert anything to my presence, I leaned one hand against the overhanging rock and feebly struggled against my fatigue.

I'd escaped. Again. This time on my own.

I stepped out of the stream and dropped to the ground about five feet from the water's edge. My brain sluggishly registered the glowing hands of my watch, which read three-fifteen in the morning. I grabbed a bag of candy and cracked open a Pepsi from my backpack. From all of my flying and jostling about, it fizzed all over my hand. But I downed the slightly-flat soda anyway, then splashed my face with chilly stream water to wake myself up more.

It's stupid and dangerous to stay awake as long as I'd been, and even more stupider and dangerouser. . .er, _stupider_ and _more dangerous_ to keep going. After forty-eight hours it's like you're flat-out drunk, and my last full night had been a day ago (and even then, it was unconsciousness due to pain, not true, resting sleep). I think I was nearing thirty hours with only scattered instances of dozing. Plus, I was emotionally drained and had had the crap kicked out of me at least three times.

But I had to keep going. I had to find Max before she tried to storm the Salt Lake lab and we all had to get the hell away from that place before Con--or somebody else--found us again. It'd probably do some good to find Sy, too, so I could warn him that they were going to be after him and whatknot.

I tossed back a mixed handful of Skittles and M&M's before putting them away, zipping up the backpack and putting it back on again. I felt for my gun--my trusty little revolver--before setting off on foot, aiming for what I hoped was the direction of the campsite.

Third Person POV--Constantine

_They'd all gotten away!_ Spark, Ride, and the rest of the Cali group! All of them, gone! Right between their fingers!

_F*ck my life! _Con thought in anger, punching the wall as he stopped outside his room. The others kept walking, heading for their own rooms further on down the hall.

It was five in the morning, because after an hour of fruitless searching, Con had gotten another call from the Salt Lake house. It was Dr. Westerfield, the escaped fish hybrid's mother, and she'd ordered them to come back. And because the entire team was pissed off, tired, and angry, they decided to call it a night and head back.

Con twisted the knob on his door and kicked it open. _I can't believe. . ._

His jaw dropped--not something that happened every day. His face went whiter than usual and his hands clenched into trembling fists.

His room was completely trashed.

The bedsheets lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Contents of the drawers from the bedside table and desk were scattered about haphazardly. The desk's surface was swept clean, all the random knick-knacks in pieces on the floor. The closet door was hanging open, the clothes inside having been thrown about the room. It was as if somebody with an anger-management problem had taken it out on his bedroom.

He could only think of one person.

_Spark_.

A shriek from Blaze's room jolted Con from his trance and he rushed out into the hall, where he narrowly avoided a paperweight Blaze had thrown out the door.

"_Watch _it!" he yelled, coming to the doorway. "What the hell. . .oh. . ."

"She. . .trashed. . .my. . .room!!!" Blaze screamed, throwing and kicking anything within range. "_Uuuuhhhh! _I _hate _her!!"

"What's all the yelling about?!" Avi shouted, stalking out of her room in a huff. She ducked another thrown object from Blaze and looked shocked when she saw the mess. "Oh, my God."

"_Shit_!" Shadow's cry of surprise drew the three blackbirds* of the anti-flock to their youngest member's room, which was similarly ransacked. Avi's eyes went even wider and she started to bite her fingernails.

"She's screwing with us! Oh, no, she couldn't just _leave_, she had to f*ck us up, too!" Blaze ranted. "F*ck her! I _hate _her!"

"Think she messed with Swift too?" Con asked, trying to stay calm. Of course, on the inside, he was furious, hardly able to keep himself from hitting something. But he was the leader. He had to be strong.

"Dunno. Hey, Swift!" Shadow yelled, running ahead. "Didja get scre--oh, I guess you did."

By now Con, Avi, and Blaze had reached Swift's room. Inside, they found the hawk-footed boy picking through the debris, searching for something. Looking through his usual passive expression, Con saw the fury and frustration in his eyes.

"She did it to all of us," Con said, catching Swift's eye. Swift shrugged one shoulder, picking up a crumpled piece of paper. He smoothed it out, read it over, then let it fall back to the floor. "Don't get down about it."

"Hey. . .where's that notebook you had?" Shadow said. He'd started to help Swift pick up, but now he was by the desk, cocking his head curiously at the surface. There was a clean rectangle in the dust from where the book had sat. The little blond boy glanced around the room, searching. "It's. . .where'd you put it?"

Blaze's eyes widened a fraction of an inch, flashing silver as she realized something. "That. . .she must've. . ._shit!!_" She whirled and ran back to her room, leaving the others hesitating in confusion. A scream of frustration made them all jump.

_"My gun! Where the hell's my gun?!?" _She screamed again, and there was a loud _fwoosh_ing sound before flames lept out of the air vent in the ceiling. Swift ducked and narrowly avoided catching on fire.

"OH!" Shadow's eyes went wide as he figured it out. "She took it, right? Spark took. . ." The little boy paled and he leaped up, pushing past Con and dashing off toward his own room.

"So. . .Spark took Swift's notebook, Blaze's gun. . ." Con began to say. A sudden howl from Shadow made him wince and he continued. "And Shadow's. . .something. . .which means. . ."

_Which means she took something of mine, too,_ he finished mentally. He turned abruptly and hurried to his room, heading straight for the pile of junk that had been in the drawer of the bedside table. He rifled through it once, twice, three times, his anger climbing as he finally had to admit that it was gone.

_You've gotta be kidding me! _Con kicked the table in frustration, splintering its leg and sending the lamp crashing to the floor. His iPod was gone. All his music, all thirty-nine thousand songs, _gone_.

"Uh. . ."

Con glanced back over his shoulder to see Swift hesitating in the doorway.

"What is it?" he snapped. He pulled at his necklace, the one Jay had given to them all those years ago. "Go tap into her chip! Track her down so I can kick the crap out of her!"

Swift shook his head. " 'S gone."

"No shit she's gone! That's why _I need you to find her_."

"Not her. The laptop."

"What?!"

"She must've taken it. Can't find it."

Con let out a frustrated groan and lashed out. His hand hit the lamp and sent it crashing to the floor. Rubbing his temples at the sudden headache, he sat down on his bed. _Shit on a stick. . .it just keeps getting worse. . ._

His pocket vibrated and he pulled out a small cell phone, flicking it open with a little more force than was necessary. "What?"

_"Where are you?"_

He'd been expecting this call. In fact, he was a little surprised that it hadn't come sooner. "I'm in my room! Which is trashed, by the way! She messed with our stuff before she left!"

There was a frustrated sigh. _"Go down to Conference Room D. I'm setting up a live video feed."_

Con snapped the phone shut as Julian Newell hung up on him. He wanted to yell at them face-to-face, then. Perfect.

Third Person POV--Poseidon

He was going to kill her.

Sy's already-pale hand whitened on the steering wheel, his black boot pressing down harder on the gas pedal. The Explorer--or Stupid Faggot Car, as he'd christened it--groaned in protest, but he ignored it, urging the speedometer higher and higher. He was already regretting ditching the Ferrari.

One night. That's all he'd asked for. One frickin' night to rest, but no, she couldn't even give him that. She had to jump ship as soon as he took his eyes off her.

He didn't bother scanning the lightening skies as he sped through the chilly morning--his eyes weren't made to see super-far, and she'd gotten a killer head-start. The minister of the church he'd parked behind had knocked on his window at five-thirty a.m., telling him politely to move his car. By then Spark had been gone for quite some time.

He needed to find her again, before she did anything stupid.

Sy pressed harder on the gas pedal, jaw clenching. _Stupid, stupid car! Faster!_

* * *

*there's no name for somebody with black hair. like, a blond's a blond, a redhead's a redhead, and a brunette's a brunette, but a person with black hair is just a person with black hair. and it's annoying and awkward having to type out "black-haired" all the time. so from now on i shall refer to all black-haired peoples as "blackbirds." you may use this term yourself if you like. maybe if enough people use it it'll catch on.

now. i don't ask much of you people, but some of my favorite numbers are 25 and 100.

so i challenge you.

chapter 25 better hit 100 reviews.

or else.

(. . .i'm gonna throw a please somewhere in there. . .)


	25. Chapter 25

le gasp!! i was hoping to break 100 reviews _on _chapter 25, not before! love to all who reviewed my story!

and now, as the title clearly states. . .spark and the flock finally reunite. yay!

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride

* * *

_**25. together again**_

Third Person POV--Dr. Julian Newell

"You got cocky," Newell said flatly. "You underestimated them."

Jay watched as the five kids on the screen averted their eyes, all of them looking more than a little ticked. Blaze especially looked mad--smoke curled from her fingertips, burning little holes in the wood of the conference table as she tapped her fingers.

"And because you underestimated, you failed. Not once. Not twice. Not three times. _Four times_. That's four too many, Constanti--"

"Just shut up already!" Con interrupted loudly. "We _know_ what happened! Ride escaped _twice _and Spark escaped _twice_. Hey, if you wanna get technical, Westerfield escaped, too, so let's just make it a nice round five failures!!"

"Can it, Con!" Blaze yelled. Con rolled his eyes irritably. "I'm pissed enough as it is, you don't have to bring up that stupid trout, too!"

"Stop yellin' at him!" Shadow shouted, standing and slamming his hands on the table. "It's _their _fault, not ours!"

Julian Newell rolled his eyes as an explosive argument broke out on the other side of the screen, waiting for it to die out, as it always did. He checked his watch and wondered absently if this should've waited--it was late over in Utah, and the team hadn't had sleep in a while.

Once the last shout's echo had died, Newell said, "Children."

Blaze mumbled something about not being a kid, but Newell ignored her.

"Children, perhaps you should accept that you five aren't suited for this. Let that upstart team in Brazil handle it instead?"

"Don't you _dare _think about sending another team!" Con snapped. "You _know _we're the ones to do this, Jay! We're the _only _ones!"

"No one else has gotten this close!" Blaze added. "We nearly had them!"

"So have countless others. Batchelder's kid got closer than you as well."

"That _thing _turned on us," Shadow said. "And Max killed him anyway."

Newell shook his head. "You've got it backwards. She killed him _before _he went to her side."

"Key words being _went to her side_," Swift said quietly. "None of us would do that."

"Spark did."

"Th-that's not the same thing!" Avi blurted. Everybody looked at her and she started to chew on her nail. "I mean, she ran away, but she met Max later, right? She didn't technically go to her side."

"Ah, shut up." Glaring at Newell with silver eyes, Blaze said, "Look, Jay, Spark's _ours_. I don't care about Westerfield, but you said _we_ could take Spark. And if she's going to be with Ride and the others anyway, we might as well take them out too, right?"

"Just. . .give us another chance, Mr. Jay," Shadow pleaded. "Please?"

Newell sighed theatrically. "Fine. One more chance. You fail again and I'm calling Brazil."

And with that he cut off the feed.

Leaning back in his chair, he smiled to himself. He'd done what was necessary--re-instated their drive to succeed. After so many missions, so many successes, his little flock had started to get big-headed. Cocky. They thought they could do anything without any trouble. But now. . .

Now they actually had a challenge.

Third Person POV--Avi

Everybody let out a relieved sigh as the screen went blank. Shadow yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Hey, Con. . .?"

"Just. . .leave," Con muttered. He put his elbows on the table and hunched forward, holding his head in his hands. "Everybody just. . .go."

Shadow glanced at Swift, who shrugged. The two boys rose in unison and exited the room, heading for their bedrooms. (Obviously, some cleaning would have to be done _before_ they could actually go to bed. . .)

Avi hesitated, waiting to see if Blaze was getting up, but when she didn't, Avi left by herself. She'd wanted to ask Blaze a couple things--why Westerfield had helped Spark, and why Con was being so weird--but apparently, her questions would have to wait until the morrow.

When she reached her room, Avi glanced down the hall, to be sure nobody else was around. Then she darted inside and shut the door, leaning against it and letting out a breath.

One thing she _didn't _want to ask Blaze about was why Spark had trashed everybody's room but her own.

She glanced around, the confusion welling up inside her once again as she saw that everything was still in its place.

_Why'd she leave me alone? Why _me_?_

Thousands of possible answers swirled about in her head as she crossed over to her bed. She turned and fell back on top of it, fully clothed, eyes closing. . .

. . .only to shoot open again as she felt the hard thing beneath her pillow.

Bewildered, Avi sat up and lifted the pillow. Her eyes went wide when she saw the dark blue cell phone with the sloppily-written note:

_Call your family. This phone will not work in 36 hours from 8:49 pm Wednesday, August 6, 2008. (ignore any texts or calls that pop up when you turn the phone on.) DO NOT TELL ANYBODY. DESTROY ONCE CALL HAS BEEN MADE. I'M TRUSTING YOU TO DO THIS FOR ME._

Spark. It had to be Spark. Avi glanced at the little clock on her bedside table and saw it read five-forty-five a.m., Thursday, August seventh. Nine out of her thirty-six allotted hours had passed.

Avi took a breath and opened the cell phone. She held the _end _button, jumping when the device vibrated to announce twenty missed calls (the most recent being from a "Marie") and forty-five unread text messages (the most recent being from a "Kendra"). Slowly, Avi went through and closed all of the reminders, ears tuned to the hall outside in case anybody decided to drop in for a surprise visit. Then, with trembling fingers, she dialed out her home phone number. Putting the cell to her ear, she waited, shivering in anticipation.

_Riiiiinnng. . .riiiiinnng. . .riiiiinn--_

"Hello?"

Avi nearly dropped the phone, unable to believe that it wasn't a trick, that that voice was really. . .

"Helloooooo."

Blinking away sudden tears, Avi smiled. "Hi, Mom."

Spark POV

"Mmmmnnnnn. . ."

I groaned as I pushed myself away from the tree and forced myself to keep shuffling along. It was nearly seven in the morning, and I was practically sleep-walking. My teeth felt like they were coated in sugar (not a good feeling), my feet hurt, my head was killing me, the backpack felt heavier and heavier, and if anybody tried to capture me right then they wouldn't have too much trouble.

Why was I even on foot, you ask? Because a) I doubt I could even keep myself in the air I was so tired, and 2) there was a better chance of me being spotted while flying around. So it was the oldest way of human transportation for me.

"Ah, _crap_!" A tree root tripped me and, as tired and uncoordinated as I was right then, I fell flat on my face, a rock digging painfully into my ribs as I hit the ground. I crossed my arms and lay my head down on them, blocking out the world for a moment or so.

I just wanted to _sleep_. . .

Sleep. . .

_Ziiiiip._

The slight tug of the zipper on my backpack was what woke me from my sleep. You know after a long day, you just sit down and rest your eyes, but then you wake up and, like, six hours have passed? And somehow you're still tired? That's what I felt like right then. I was only dimly aware of the something rifling through my pack, unwilling to lift my head and check it out.

(You may think this is lazy and possibly rather stupid of me, but hey, if it were somebody who wanted to kill me, I'd be dead already, now wouldn't I?)

_Crackle, crackle. . .pop!_

I jumped a little as one of the bags of chips popped, and I sensed the something (or someone) leaning over me gave a little start as well. Now I _wanted _to look up, but then again, I didn't want to, because I wanted to see if I could guess what it was before I scared it off.

Whatever it was stuck its head back into the backpack, sniffing delicately. There was some more crinkly noises before a tiny _crunch _signified the eating of a chip.

Well. Sure got weird after that.

The creature inside my backpack flipped _out_--it must've been a "Flamin' Hot" chip. My backpack jerked, and there was a slight _ripp!_ before I got clocked in the back of the head with something hard.

_Ow! _I grabbed the back of my head but, surprisingly, felt no blood. There was a soft _clip-clop! _before leaves stopped rustling and all was still.

I propped myself up and rubbed my eyes. I yawned and forced myself to my knees, where I shrugged off my backpack and checked inside. One of the mini bags of spicy Lay's was open, and there were two parallel rips in the front of the pack.

I pulled out the chips before zipping up the bag and setting it beside me. Then, sitting cross-legged and tilting the open chip bag toward the place where my little theif had run to, I waited. After a few _long _minutes, the leaves in the underbrush began to rustle. I tensed, then had a girly moment when a little baby deer stepped out into the open.

"Awwww!"

The fawn--a leggy, spotted little fellow with little antler buds poking up out of its head--shied away, and I immediately cursed myself for the lapse. Using my foot, I pushed the bag of chips closer the the animal that still hovered in the darkening shadows and clicked my tongue.

"It's okay. You can have them."

Like he'd understand me. Like I'd even _touch _those things after a deer that's been who-knows-where has been at them anyway.

Eyeing me with large, innocent, liquid gold eyes, the fawn picked its way out of the bush and made its way toward the bag of chips. I carefully scooted away as he neared, unwilling to scare him off again. The baby deer bent his neck down and sniffed at the contents of the bag.

"Careful. They're spicy."

The deer's head retracted from the bag, a single reddened chip held between its flat, square teeth. Tossing his head back, the deer let the chip fall into his mouth with a quick _crunch_.

His eyes rolled a little bit, and he coughed a few times (how many people can say they've seen a deer cough? It's a pretty weird thing to see) before blinking and looking back down at the bag. After a second's indecision, he went for more.

"Ha, ha! A deer who likes spicy stuff. That's so cool!" I said, laughing a little. The deer paid me no mind, intent on satisfying his munchies.

"I wonder why you even came to me in the first place. Maybe you thought I was dead or something and wanted my food. Ah well. I'm not dead, I was just asleep."

When you get tired, you start talking to yourself and other random things, be they animals or inanimate objects. So, while the deer continued to eat, I continued to ramble at him, bringing my knees up to my chest and crossing my arms across them.

"You know, it was really stupid of me to fall asleep right in the middle of the ground like that. Probably should've went to a tree or something. You know, I'm gonna call you Chip, 'cuz you're eating my chips, and because you just look like the kinda deer that'd be named Chip."

Chip came out of the bag and looked at me, eyes wide.

"Sorry. Fawn."

He continued to stare, his tongue flicking out absently to lick a few missed chip crumbs on his nose.

"Buck?"

He sneezed at me and returned to the bag of chips. I laughed again.

See, had it been a dog, it wouldn't've been so weird. I mean, _everybody _talks to their dog. And some dogs--like Total--talk back, and. . .

Total.

Max. The flock.

I'd wasted _so much time_. They'd probably come up with a plan by now! They could be flying off to rescue me any second!! Screw the deer, I had to find them!

I jumped when a cold nose touched my hand. Chip was staring at me again with those big gold eyes, begging for more food. He even went so far as to turn to my backpack and poke at it with his hoof.

"Sorry, Chip, but no more munchies and crunchies for you." I pulled the bag out of reach. "Hey, how'd you even get the zipper open anyway? Actually, never mind. I don't wanna know."

I was starting to remind myself of Nudge with all this chatter.

"Speaking of Nudge, Chip, I was looking for my friends before I fell asleep. Have you seen them? They're six kids and a dog. Three of the kids are big, like me, and the other three are littler, like, yay-high." I stretched my arm above me and marked off what I thought was Angel's height.

Chip blinked at me, then suddenly turned tail and bounded away.

"Hey! I wasn't done talkin' to you!" I called after him. I sighed. "How rude. Ah, well." I grabbed my backpack and the empty chip bag, stuffing it into my pocket as I forced myself to my feet. Shouldering the pack, I stretched and set off north, where the campsite was (if Max and the others were indeed still there) and, oddly enough, the direction Chip had run in.

To my surprise, he found me again almost as soon as I left the clearing, bouncing around me as happily and energetically as any child. Perhaps giving deer potato chips isn't such a good idea.

"For the love of all that is Bambi, what are you doing?" I asked him suspiciously. He trotted around behind me and bumped my backpack.

"Hey! I said no more munchies and crunchies!"

Chip bumped me again for good measure before coming to my side, tiptoeing along like he was the prince of the forest. His back came up to my waist, the top of his head nearly at my elbow.

"You are the _weirdest _de--sorry, fawn. . .I mean--sorry--_buck_ that I have ever met," I told him. "Just what are you so gosh-darned _hyper _abou--"

"Max, we have to wait a little longer! Please?"

I froze mid-step at Angel's voice, eyes popping wide. Chip nuzzled my arm happily before darting off to the right, staring into a new clearing.

"I'm sorry, Angel, but we can't. Who knows what they're doing to her right now?"

I'll be _damned. _I'd found them! Angel and Max and the rest of the flock! I spun on my heel and went to hover by Chip, my hand resting between his fuzzly-soft shoulders. His little white tail spazzed back and forth and he twisted his head around to lick my hand.

"I'll be _damned_," I breathed, staring into the clearing. "There is no freaking _way_. . ."

Angel and Max were almost in a face-off, with Angel looking determined with her hands on her hips. Max looked all condescendingly kind, and after a second I saw Fang hanging back, awaiting the verdict. (Iggy, Nudge, Gazzy, and Total were nowhere to be seen--in the air, most likely.)

"But Max, I _know _she's coming!" Angel insisted. "She's already out!"

"Angel, we have to check out that lab," Max said firmly. "If you're wrong, then Spark's still in there, waiting. Would you have wanted _us _to wait before rescuing _you_?"

Angel sighed, unfolding her white wings in defeat. Max looked at Fang, saying, "Up and away."

_No, wait!_ I tried to run forward, but Chip bit down on the back of my jacket and pulled me back. I twisted around and started a weird tug-of-war with him. "Hey! Let go! Stop it, you stupid, stupid little buck! Let go!"

_Spark?_

I stopped, trying to focus on the voice in my head. _Angel? _I ventured.

_Spark! It's you, it's really you! I was right! Chip told me he saw you and that he'd go get you for me and. . ._

_Wait, what? Who're you. . ._My jacket fell slack and I glanced back at the little fawn, who was practically beaming at me in pride. (It was a funny sight. To this day all I gotta do to get a giggle is picture Chip with that look, his little tail wagging back and forth as fast as any terrier's.)

_You can read animal minds now? _I asked incredulously.

_Only a couple. But Spark! Come on, Max wants to leave to get you! You have to get out here!_

"Angel, let's go. Up and away."

"But Max--!"

"Angel, it'd take a miracle for Spark to escape on her own," Fang said quietly. "We should--"

"I take insult to that, Fang!" I said loudly. All four heads in the clearing turned toward me and I looked back at Chip. He was still looking all proud and stuff, and it made me chuckle. I rubbed his fuzzly head, tapping one of the growing antlers with my knuckle. "See ya, Chip." Then, straightening my stolen and sleeveless vest-like thing, I stepped out of the underbrush with as much dignity as I could muster. "Granted, I really _didn't _escape all by myself, but it's still insulting that you underestimate me like that."

"Spark!!" Angel cried joyfully, running toward me with arms outstretched.

"Spark?!" Max exclaimed.

Fang just blinked--his version of completely and utterly shocked.

"Yeah, hi, guys," I said. Angel flying-tackle-hugged me and I staggered back a step or two, laughing. "Hey, Angel!"

"I _told _them you were out already, but they didn't listen!" Angel said into my jacket. "And when I heard Chip thinking about you, I knew it was you, and I tried to tell them. . ."

"Hey, Max, what's taking so--_ohmyGod!!_" I looked up to a little hole in the foliage and saw Nudge's excited face peering down at me. "Spark! It's you, it's you! OhmyGod, I have to get Iggy and Gazzy and Total!"

"Missed you too, Nudge!" I yelled after her.

"Spark, I. . .I can't believe it's you!" Max said again.

_"Oui. C'est moi!"_ I replied, gently trying to push Angel away. She was hugging me quite tightly, hurting my wounded midsection just a little bit.

Max shook her head in disbelief, running a hand through her hair. "No, I mean. . .how'd you escape? Did you just. . ."

She was cut off by ecstatic yells of "Spark!" and "Sparky!" I glanced up and caught the tiniest glimpse of tawny feathers before I was literally (and painfully) floored by Nudge and the Gasman; Iggy and Total landed on the ground a few feet away, but Total ran right up to me and started to lick my face.

"Ow!" I yelped when I slammed into the ground, new pain blossoming from all of my wounds. My arm, my stomach, my other arm, my ribs, by back, my neck. . .but I was unheard beneath all the laughter and excited cries.

Geez, they'd missed me _that much_?

"Ow ow ow ow _ow_!" I cried out again as Nudge hugged my broken arm. She heard me and looked at me in confusion.

"What's wrong, Spark?"

"You're hurting me," I said with difficulty, prying her hands away from me. She saw the splint on my wrist and let go so fast it was like I'd burned her.

"Ohmygosh! I'm so sorry, Spark! I didn't mean to!" she said quickly, waving her hands. Gazzy and Angel backed off as well and I sat there for a second, rubbing my various pains and willing them to go away. Nudge gasped as she took in my various bandages. "What happened?"

"I. . .fell?" I ventured, knowing it wouldn't do any good.

Max frowned. "You _fell_."

"Okay, fine. That was false. I was. . .look, can I tell you later?" I asked. She eyed me for a second, seemed to take pity in the pleading look in my eyes, and sighed.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. The main thing is that you're alive and in one piece."

I nodded. "Uh-huh. I'm really glad I found you guys before you went charging off to that. . .place."

Fang's mouth almost twitched in what could've been the ghost of a smirk. "Good thing you did. We'd've walked right into their hands."

"Then _I _would've had to go in and save _you_," I teased.

"Please," Iggy said, rolling his eyes. "If you can get out on your own, we _definitely _could."

_Ha, about that. I _didn't _get out on my own. So yeah, I _would've _had to go rescue you. _

That's what I thought to myself. Out loud, all I said was, "Oh, sure. Whatever."

"Speaking of that place," Max said, "don't you guys think we should be flying away from it?"

"Definitely," I said, standing up and brushing off my jeans. "I _never _want to be in the Salt Lake area ever again in my life."

One after another, we jumped into the air, flapping our wings hard to get airborne. Max didn't seem to have any particular heading in mind, so I angled little by little for the town where I'd ditched Sy. I would still have to warn him that Con and them knew he'd escaped and helped me and stuff.

But for the moment. . .

I was alive, safe, and in the company of friends, heading away from that hellhole of a lab.

I was content.

Max POV

_Spark was okay_. I still couldn't believe she'd actually caught us before we went running off to rescue her, that she was actually okay. . .

All right, so maybe "okay" was a bit of a stretch. She had off-white bandages around her arms and neck, and there were black marks on her hands, and she looked tired beyond all get-out, but otherwise. . .

I glanced at her, jumping in alarm when I realized her eyes were closed and her body limp. I tilted over to her and whacked her back with my wing. She flinched and opened her eyes, looking around.

"Ahh! What, what?"

I circled around beside her and gave her a funny look. "You were falling asleep."

She blinked owlishly and covered her mouth to hide a yawn. "Uh, so?"

"You _do _realize we're still flying, right?" I asked, using a tone that implied stupidity. "We normally take that as a bad sign."

"That's it?" she said. "You just woke me up because we're still flying?"

"What d'you mean, _that's it_?" I shot back. "None of us have ever actually fallen asleep while flying! Spark, you're exhausted! We need to land!"

Spark rubbed her eyes tiredly, yawning again as she said, "We don't have to land right this second, Max. We're not far enough away yet. Besides, I can do a lot of stuff while falling asleep. Like homework, watching TV, taking notes, reading, writing, talking to somebody. . ."

"Okay, okay, I get it," I interrupted. She nodded, her eyes sliding closed yet again. "But you still need to rest."

"Huh, no sh--erm, uh, duh." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled ball of green bills. My eyes went wide when I saw the multiple fifties and twenties. "Look, how about we sit down and eat and check into a hotel or something like normal kids for once in our lives?"

"Where'd you get that?"

"I found it in the backpack I stole." Right--along with a weird sleeveless jacket thing, she'd acquired a black backpack and stuffed it with junk and a couple other things she said she'd show me later. "Is that okay?"

I blinked. "Uh, yeah. Totally."

"Good." Spark began to flip through the wad of cash, sorting it out, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Not that it'd matter if you'd said no," she added, and my mouth quirked in a smirk.

"Guess not."

* * *

hey--if the whole deer thing seemed weird and random, it kinda was. i wrote it one night around midnight, and i was super-tired. the original scene had a whole cast of talking animals with funny accents (including but not limited to: tavis the scottish squirrel, liam the irish fox, randolf the russian wolf, dyani the french doe, pidge the cockney sparrow, bobby the boston sparrow, and sid the australian gecko). but hey--i got in some references to bambi, the black cauldron, and even full house. so there!

i had a lot of time on my hands this week--two delayed starts and three snow days!

so much time, in fact, that i figured out exactly what's going to happen in this story! (i even wrote the end!!)


	26. Chapter 26

i came upon a strange oddity the other day. of the 64,657 words in this story, only thirty-one have been misspelled thus far. (that's less than a single percent!!!)

i'm gud at sppelingg, arrn'tt i?

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**26. destroyer**_

I am a devious little child. To play the "I'm insanely exhausted, can we please land?" card _right _as Jackson came into view was a rather manipulative move by me, if I do say so myself. And Max, being the sweet, caring girl she is, decided that we should land and find a place to rest and clean up and stuff.

As we soared over the eastern part of town, I searched for the church, and, more importantly, the blue Explorer I'd abandoned.

I frowned. Either we were in the wrong part of town, or. . ._crapcakes._ I let out a breath and ran a hand through my hair. "Ah, _man_!"

_The car wasn't there_. He must've woken up pissed and gone after me, or woken up pissed and taken off. (Either way, he'd woken up pissed.) I was _reallly _hoping it was the second rather than the first, because if Sy got captured because of me, I'd never be able to live with myself.

"What's up?" Iggy asked, having heard my despaired groan. I jumped, then commenced to coming up with a quick, panicked lie.

"Oh, uh, nothing," I said, careful on my tone. When you lie, you have to be sure it's not too quick, too slow, too high, or too controlled. You have to let a little emotion leak into it, and actually strive for casual without revealing that you're striving for casual. If that makes any sense at all. . . "Just. . .tired, I guess. Max pick a place yet?"

He tilted his head, listening in to Max and Fang's low conversation. "Yeeeaaaah. . .they're about to tell us right. . ."

"Guys, come here!" Max called.

"Nice, dude." I gave my wings an extra flap, being sure to brush Iggy's wing as I passed up over him. He shadowed me as we joined the rest of the flock, hovering a couple thousand feet above the town of Jackson.

"And what be the verdict?" I asked, crossing my arms across my chest. Max pointed straight down.

"Cheap motel, next to a diner. We can sit, eat, sleep, generally find out what the heck happened to you," she said, giving me a look that said the last thing wasn't optional. I raised my hands defensively.

"Hey, no objections. But. . ." I hesitated, glancing at the little kids. "I think some of the details might be. . .well, a little graphic."

"Define 'graphic'," Total said. He fluttered up to me and I automatically held out my arms to catch him. He folded his wings and happily licked my hand.

"Um. . .I'd rather not," I replied. I looked at Max meaningfully and she nodded. "Okay. Give us the non-graphic version now, and the graphic version later."

I nodded. "That I can handle."

She nodded back and flipped around, beginning to dive for the ground. Angel, the Gasman, Iggy, and Nudge were right behind her; I began to follow and became very aware of Fang watching me from the back.

I turned over midair so I could look at him, practically flying upside-down (it was difficult to fly that way, but I'd had time to practice in the boring hours of summers past). "Can I help you?"

He blinked. "You're _really _gonna tell us everything?"

"No, I was lying. I'm going to improv and b-s the entire story as I go," I said sarcastically. "Why the hell wouldn't I tell you everything?"

He shrugged. "You said yourself it was graphic. Might be. . .hard to remember."

Well, now that he'd _said _it!

The hours of "interrogation" flashed behind my eyes at hyperspeed--Con electrocuting me, torturing me mentally; Blaze squeezing my throat, kicking me over and over and over; Swift dragging his razor-sharp talons across my stomach, staring at me with those cold, gray eyes; Shadow kicking me, dragging up all the memories I'd forgotten long ago. . .then the heart-stopping socket-stabbing to get rid of those Flyboys. . .

Total squirmed in my arms. "Sparky! I don't wanna go splat in a dumpster!"

"Huh?" I looked up (or. . .down. . .) and saw the ground rocketing at us really, really fast. "Oh, crap!" I swung my legs around and flared out my wings to brake. I was yanked backwards, practically ripping my wings from my back before landing lightly beside Angel.

"Geeezzz," I muttered, pulling in my wings. "Total, note to self: never do that again."

"You can't 'note to self' somebody else," he said grumpily, jumping out of my grasp. He shook himself, ruffling his own little wings before trotting over to Iggy. He bent down and strapped Total into his service-dog disguise.

"Fine then. Be that way." I stuck out my tongue at him, a gesture that he returned. I got a little giggle out of that as I pulled out the money I'd found in the backpack--there was still too much to waste time counting.

"Um, how much do you have?" the Gasman asked apprehensively. I smiled and ruffled his soft blond hair.

"More than enough, Gazzy. Don't worry about it."

"Look, last time we tried this, they flipped out," Max said warningly. "So let's try to have normal-sized meals, okay?"

"And after we're done _here_," I added quickly when I saw some disappointed faces, "we'll go somewhere else. We'll diner-hop around until everybody's got a giant food-baby restricting their movement. Okay?"

Only Max and Fang didn't burst out in hysterics--but even they seemed to have trouble keeping straight faces. I let out a contented breath and smiled. Whoever said laughing was good for you was right on the money.

As we detoured around to the front of the diner, I came to realize something: we looked like we'd gotten the crap kicked out of us. Iggy's leg, Nudge's arm and head, Fang's shoulder, my own arms and neck and head--they'd definitely attract attention. I didn't wanna tire Angel out by having her making people not notice us. . .

I saw Max tense as she stopped by the hosts' podium. The kid manning it was smirking at us rather obviously, as were a couple other people who'd turned to see us come in. The sight made me frown; why the heck were they looking at us like tha--

Then I caught sight of a couple of tables in the corner of the diner. A bunch of high-school age kids were sitting there, all with bandages and slings and crutches and things.

Hey, that rhymed.

But I'm not as tired this time.

So I don't think I'll be going on a spree that has me sounding like a book for kids under three.

Oh. . .God _damn _it!

. . .So, uh, back to the injured kids.

All their injuries seemed to be fake. I let myself relax when I realized what was going on--wherever we were, the school district had started classes early. And they had a spirit day. "Fake and Injury Day," to be exact.

And how did I know this? Because my school had done the same thing last year. Besides, it _was _a weekday.

"Table for, uh, seven?" I heard the host ask. I blinked and glanced at him--he was about nineteen, with spiky red hair and big brown eyes, too many freckles dusting his round face.

"Yes, please," Max said tightly.

"No kids, either," I put in quickly when I saw the guy reach for three paper placemat-things. He looked at me funny, but I smiled. "They're big eaters."

Max crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently while the guy grabbed seven menus and consulted his little table-chart. Throwing another knowing look at us, he started to lead us to a table.

Nudge tapped my arm. "Why is he smiling like that? You'd think he'd look scared or nervous or something. . ."

I pointed over to the corner table. "Local high school had a 'Fake an Injury Day.' He thinks we're just local students who participate in Spirit Week."

"That's so cool!" she exclaimed. "If I went to a school that did stuff like that, I'd totally do it! What other kinda stuff do they do?"

"Well, uh, at my school, there's Pajama Day, Class Color Day, Intergalactic Space Day, Disney Day, Twin Day, Crazy Day, Decade Day, normal Spirit Day. . ." I listed. "Then there're random days throughout the year when certain clubs do fundraiser things, like, pay a dollar to wear a hat. And then there's Red Ribbon Week, when you wear red to support drug-free behavior and stuff. . .and, of course, people dress up on holidays. Halloween, Christmas. Stuff like that. Oh! And we have Senior S.W.A.G., too."

"What's that?" Angel asked, coming up beside me and taking my non-broken hand.

"Well, I _think _it was started by the senior cheerleaders, almost fifteen years ago. They'd get together in groups and go out to kidnap senior football players and dress them up in crazy outfits and stuff. Now, though, it's all planned, with people gathering at one person's house and picking a theme for the entire senior class. But it's really fun 'cuz all the seniors are all dressed funny and super tired and stuff."

My sister would be doing S.W.A.G. this year. And--given all the crazy stuff that was going on, with me being on the run and all--I probably wouldn't get to see it. Hey, I might not even get to do it myself, if I stayed with these guys. I sincerely doubted Max would want to settle down back in Monument, Colorado, and go to Lewis-Palmer High School for a couple of years.

I let out a sigh as we finally got to a table. My life had changed irrevocably, hadn't it?

"It's okay, Spark," Angel said encouragingly, squeezing my hand. "I'm sure you'll see your family again someday."

"Uh, thanks, Angel," I mumbled. I stepped back and allowed her and Nudge to slide into the corner booth before me. Then I sat down, let Total hop up into my lap, and tapped the table with my knuckles so Iggy wouldn't bump into it as he sat down.

The host passed out menus and left.

"Hey, uh, Spark?"

"Get whatever you want, guys. It's on the jerks that almost killed us," I said, smirking and waving my wad o' stolen anti-flock cash.

"How much did you _take_?" Max asked incredulously. I quickly flipped through the stack, counting out twenties, fifties, and more than a few hundreds.

"Um. . .wow." I stuffed the money back into my pocket as I did the math in my head. "Let's just say it's a lot. Like, a _lot _a lot."

"Like, not worrying about money for a while a lot?" Iggy guessed.

"Yeah. So like I said, get whatever you want."

"Well, hold up the menu, Sparky!" Total said, putting his little paws on the table. "I must choose what will have the fortune of sliding down my throat."

I rolled my eyes and propped up the menu so Total could see. Too lazy to actually look at the menu myself, I'd just get whatever Total was going to get. So I leaned back and closed my eyes, hoping to rest a little.

But then Max leaned forward and said those dreaded words.

"So tell us. What the heck happened to you?"

I opened my eyes and looked at her tiredly. She had a glint in her eye that said she wasn't going to wait any longer. I had to give them the basics of the story, and I had to give it to them _now._

"Fine. Shall we go with a ten-second outline or a ten-minute play-by-play minus the graphic details?"

Max glanced at the kids. "Ten-second outline should be good for now."

"Good. I was hoping you'd pick that one." I paused, filtering through my memories and picking out only the broadest descriptions. Then I took a deep breath.

"Theykidnappedmeandputmeinacellandquestionedmeforaboutadayandthentheyleftandthenthekidwho'dkidnappedmecamebackandletmeoutandwewent aroundandtrashedtheirroomsandthenwestoleacarandleftandafterhefellasleepIditchedhimandcamebackandwaschasedbytheanti-flockandthenIlostthemandthenIfellasleepandthenIfoundyouguystheend."

There was a short silence in which Max glared at me and the others just stared blankly, until Iggy broke it with a snicker.

"Geez, I don't think Nudge has _ever _said anything _that _fast."

I sighed. "I take that as a compliment, Iggy. Thank you. And Max, before you yell at me, you asked for a ten-second outline. Had you timed it, I did indeed say it in ten seconds."*

Max leaned back and rubbed her temple. "I didn't mean it _literally_, Spark. So if you could say that again, only slower, that'd be great."

"See? It pays to specify."

Just then, an overly-cheerful waitress popped up out of nowhere, scaring the bejeezus out of us. She prattled on about welcoming us to the restaurant and how the special of the day was some kind of alfredo-cheesy-crap before ending with, "So, my name is Jessica and I'll be your server this evening! Can I get drinks for you guys?"

"She's faker than a Barbie doll," I whispered softly. The flock had mini-fits of silent giggles, which only intensified as Jessica the waitress seemed not to notice.

"Uh, who wants to go first?" Max finally asked.

"I will!" Nudge volunteered. "Can I get root beer?"

"Sure!" Jessica said brightly, jotting it down.

So we went around, each of us wisely choosing drinks from under the "endless refills" title, and Jessica skipped away (almost literally _skipped_) to the kitchen.

"She's the kinda person that makes me wanna mess with her empty little head," I said, smirking. "Who wants to help me freak her out?"

"No," Max said sharply, looking at each of us. "We don't want to draw attention to ourselves."

"You just killed me inside," I replied when she looked at me.

"Well, sorry, but you still have a story to tell," she told me. "So tell it again. _Slowly_."

Oh, she was just making it too easy. "Theeeeeyyyy kiiiiiiiidnaaaaped meeee aaaannnnnndd puuuuuut meeeee iiiiiiin aaaaaaa ceeeeeelll. . ."

"Not that slowly!!" Max snapped over poorly-stifled giggles.

"Okay, first you say 'ten-second outline,' but you're not happy with that, so I try to talk slower, and _then _you say it's _too _slow," I said hysterically. "I don't know what more you _want _from me, Max!"

I seem to have a knack for pissing her off--she rolled her eyes and clenched her fists and was about to open her mouth to yell at me when Jessica popped up again with a tray of drinks. We put the pre-fight on hold for a second to order.

When the waitress had left again, Fang said, "Look, just tell us what happened. Stop screwing around and talk like a normal person."

I almost said, "But normal people aren't as funny as me," but decided against it. Max may be the leader, but she reminded me of my mom. (Just, you know, less neurotically pissy.) I _never _listened to my mom. Fang, on the other hand, reminded me of my dad. (Only quieter, far less annoying, and not as obsessed with football.) Ergo, I regained a bit of common sense and did as he said.

'Cuz I'm just funny that way.

"Were you guys attacked by other bird-kids?" I asked. Max nodded, frowning. "Right. So, they were in the lab at Salt Lake, and they're pretty much the top dogs around there, I guess. So they sent Sy to kidnap me--"

"Who's Sy?" Nudge asked.

"Oh, uh, another mutant. Another _successful _mutant."

"You never said--!" Max began, but I cut her off.

"You saw the fish-people!" I snapped back, and she blinked, her mouth forming a small _oh_. "Now, if I could go on?

"Con--that's the leader's name--sent Sy to kidnap me when we were all in the lake. Then they dragged me to a weird cell thing and. . .questioned me for about a day or so about some. . .stuff. When they left to go attack you guys, Sy came back and let me out, because he's just that nice. So we went and trashed Con and them's rooms, then ran from some Flyboys and stole a car to escape. We pulled over to sleep and I kinda. . .ditched him and went back to find you guys. Con and the others saw me, chased me, and epically failed at re-capturing me. Then, well, I kinda fell asleep, but then I woke up and found you guys again."

"Wow. Sounds like you had a crazy time," Iggy said, nudging me with his elbow. Unlucky for me, he hit me _right _in the ribs, which were still tender from Blaze's beating.

So I flinched, and he noticed.

"What'd I do?"

"N-nothing," I muttered. I almost wanted to hold my side so he wouldn't hit it again, but that'd look to weird. So I let my hand fall on Total's head. "Sorry."

_Geez. How long am I going to keep hurting like this? Stupid Blaze. I really, _really _hate her right about now. . ._

"Spark?"

"Huh?" I blinked and looked up at Fang. He nodded toward my wrist brace.

"How'd you get so banged up?"

"Oh. Uh. . ."

"Hey, guys! I have your food!"

_Oh, thank dear Lord Baby Jesus. _Jessica the waitress had decided to deliver our food to us then, so I was able to dodge Fang's question. . .for now.

But, as I quickly realized, I was unable to avoid the re-bringing-up of said injury, because the clunky brace was making it practically impossible for me to cut my steak.

"Did you break it?" the Gasman asked after I threw my fork and knife down to the table in frustration.

"Somebody broke it for me," I said bitterly.

"Who?" Nudge inquired.

I shook my head. "Somebody I really, _really _hate."

An awkward silence ensued, and that pretty much set the tone for the rest of the night. We ate (Max was so kind as to force Fang to cut my food for me so I could eat), went to another place, ate some more, then went to the cheap motel we'd spotted earlier, where we ordered pizza. (We're bird-kids that need at least three thousand calories a day, remember.)

Somewhere around ten, the little kids started falling asleep. Then Max dragged Iggy and Fang over to where I was sitting at the little table in the kitchenette part of the room and demanded the entire story.

* * *

Spark checked over her shoulder to be sure the kids were asleep, then looked back at me, Fang, and Iggy. She looked hard at me and said, "You want the full story?"

"Yeah," I replied. "All the details you didn't give at dinner. No matter how hard it is, I need to know what we're up against."

She stared for a few more seconds, then blinked and let out a breath. "Please. Whatever you do," she whispered, "don't interrupt. I need to get through it all in one go or I won't get through it at all. Okay?"

"Yeah," I said warily. "So? What happened?"

"Where. . .where should I start?"

"Uh, how about after that kid took you?" Fang offered. "The mermaid-person. From the lake."

For a second, Spark smiled. "Technically, he's a mer_man_. And his name is Sy. But yeah. I'll do that."

So that's what she did.

From when Sy dragged her to Con and the others to when she ditched Sy to come back in search of us, Spark retold her story. Only this time she left almost nothing to the imagination.

The way she said it, though. . .nearly monotone, very quiet, very detached. . .it unnerved me. Even when she was telling us of Blaze's exceptionally brutal "interrogation," her voice had almost no emotion. It was like she was reading something from a textbook.

There was only one thing she kinda skated over: when she and Sy were escaping and Flyboys chased them, she--in her own words--"dealt with them" before she and Sy got into a car and drove off. At the end of her little narrative, I jumped right on that.

"You said you'd tell us everything," I said. Spark looked up at me--she'd averted her eyes for most of the story--and I could've sworn I saw something akin to guilt in her golden-brown irises. "How exactly did you. . ._deal _with the Flyboys that were chasing you?"

"Uh. . .well, y'see. . ." she began slowly, playing for time.

"They the reason your arms are all banged up?" Fang asked mildly. Spark flinched, instinctively drawing her arms close to her body, almost hugging herself. She'd explained all the other stuff, and even lifted her shirt a little to show us the bloodstained bandages around her middle.

"K-kinda," she stuttered. "But, um, it's probably not what you're thinking. . ."

"What d'you mean?" Iggy said. "I mean, _I _was thinking they probably grazed you with some shot. Are you saying that's not what happened?"

Spark shook her head. "The robots never hit me with bullets."

"What'd they hit you with, then?"

Absently, Spark began to chew on her thumbnail. Her foot started to tap the floor apprehensively and I felt a weird sense of forboding. "Um. . ."

"Did. . ." Spark chanced a glance at Fang, who was frowning. "You didn't do anything to _yourself_, did you?"

Spark let out a deep breath and cursed. "Look, the only reason I did it was to--"

"What'd you do?" I demanded, suddenly tense. Something about her reluctance to say told me it was either really, really stupid or. . .no, actually, it just told me it was probably something really, really stupid.

"You have to know I only did it because we were trapped and I didn't want to go back in that stupid cell!" Spark said quickly, picking her hand up off the table as I reached for it. I lunged and caught her wrist tight, ignoring her squirming as I ripped off the bandages. "Max, stop, I can--!"

I gasped loudly, causing Spark to wince and Fang to go wide-eyed. Iggy, of course, was blind, and therefore couldn't see the ugly black burn around Spark's wrist. I ripped away the rest of the bandage, my eyes widening in horror as I realized it continued all the way up her arm, a twisted, curving mark that looked like someone had wrapped barbed wire around her arm and set it on fire.

"Spark, _what the hell did you do_?!"

"What is it?" Iggy asked, his hand moving across the table to where I had Spark's arm pinned down. His fingers brushed the marks embedded into her skin and he blinked. "What the. . ."

"I-I didn't wanna scare you guys!" Spark said defensively, snatching her arm back to her chest. "I swear, I only did it because I didn't have another choice!"

"Didn't want to scare us?" Fang repeated, narrowing his eyes.

"What d'you mean you didn't have another choice?" I echoed, unable to tear my eyes away from the burn.

"I-I. . .there were Flyboys, and we couldn't fight them all off, so I took a knife and stuck it in a light socket and. . ."

I blinked. _"You stuck a knife in a light socket?!?!?!?"_

"Shut _up_, Max!" Spark whispered loudly, glancing over her shoulder at the kids. Angel stirred, her mouth twitching in a small frown, but didn't wake up. Spark looked back at me with a little annoyance flickering in her eyes. "Look, if you're just going to repeat what I say, this conversation's gonna take twice as long!" Furiously re-wrapping her arm, she started to ramble. "_Yes_ I stuck a knife in a light socket, _yes_ I did it to save myself and Sy from the Flyboys, _yes_ I practically almost killed myself doing it, and _yes_ it still stings a little, but I'm _not _dead, I'm _not _in constant burning pain, and I'm _not _crazy! So just leave me the hell alone about it!"

There was an uneasy silence after she finished; I glanced at Fang, who shrugged. I let out a breath and looked again at Spark, who was glaring at the table.

"Spark, I'm. . .sorry. It just. . .it looks so _painful_."

"Yeah, and it hurt like hell. And I doubt it's ever gonna go away. Thanks for bringing it up."

Well, _that _blew up in my face.

Iggy cleared his throat. "What were they, uh, questioning you about again?"

"Why I escaped ten years ago."

"Why does that matter to them?" Fang asked.

"They. . .we all lived in the same place, all right? That was it. They wanted to know how I broke out."

I could tell she was holding something back, but for now, I let it go. We were all tired, and for the moment, we had a chance to catch up on some Z's. So I said, "Let's call it a night, guys. I'll take the first watch."

" 'Night, Max," Iggy said, standing up. He found his way over to the bed he and the Gasman were sharing and was asleep in minutes. Spark wordlessly crossed the room and sat down on the floor, leaning against Nudge and Angel's bed and facing away from me and Fang. By the way she remained tense and upright, I knew she wasn't going to sleep easily.

I let out a breath and Fang touched my hand. I glanced up and found him staring at me with his midnight sky eyes.

"You can't force her to tell us everything right away, Max," he said softly. "She's been through a lot."

"I know that," I whispered back. "But. . .I'm worried." _About her well-being, all the hell they put her through at that place, about Con and his flock, about Itex being after us again. . ._

"Go to sleep. I'll take first watch."

"But. . ."

"Just. . .try to relax."

I nodded, then winced as a voice--_the _Voice--rang through my head_. You should listen to him, Maximum. For the moment, you are completely safe._

I shut my eyes automatically, my fists clenching. I sensed Fang looking at me, but ignored it. _Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in._

The Voice chuckled softly. _You were doing fine on your own, Max._

_Oh, right! I was _totally _doing fine when that kid tortured my mind!! _I mind-shouted. _As if enough people haven't done that already! What, you couldn't've warned me?_

_It was his skill, Max, _the Voice said matter-of-factly_. Did you find it necessary to be warned of Angel's developing abilities? Or of Spark's refined skills? You should know that if you're fighting another hybrid, they could have particular advantages that aid them in battle._

_Oh, we're calling them hybrids now, are we?_ I asked snidely. _Is that the accepted vernacular? As opposed to, oh, I don't know, mutants? Freaks? Monsters?_

_You're not a monster, Max._

_Says who?_

_Look around you. Could a monster have so many friends? Such a loving family? Such a fulfulling life?_

I could've laughed right out loud at that. _Fulfilling?! You call being on the run twenty-four-seven _fulfilling_?!?!?_

_Actually, I do. You're much better off than Con and his friends. They've had a hard life._

_Like mine's been easy!_

The Voice sighed. _You don't understand, Max. In California, they just ran you through multiple tests. In Chicago, things are very different._

_Oh really? How so?_

_Con, Blaze, Shadow, Swift, and Avi were put through grueling training sessions day after day. They were abused, pushed, and forced to their limits so they could become the highly-skilled thieves they are today._ The Voice gave a light chuckle. _It's a wonder Spark turned out so normal. Con's flock are among the most dangerous hybrids ever created._

_Spark? What's Spark got to do with them? _I asked quickly. _She said they were just created in the same place!_

_Oh, no, Max. That may be true, but there's more. Spark was supposed to be their leader._

I felt my breath catch as I froze up. _Wh-what?_

_She was supposed to lead them, _the Voice repeated. _She's. . .your opposite, you could say. You were created to save the world; she was created to destroy it._

* * *

*i actually tried it. i timed myself and said it in 10.07 seconds.

this chapter took _forever _to write. i couldn't really figure out a way to return to the normal stuff. . .if that's what it is. but it turned out pretty well, don't you think? even though it's long?


	27. Chapter 27

sorry if this took a while--i couldn't think of what to write for this chapter. plus, i'm doing national novel writing month, so i got distracted. i also got distracted with the arrival of my pen pal letter from france. salut, antoine!!

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**27. computers, passwords, and confusion, oh my**_

_Destroy?! What d'you mean _destroy_?!_

The Voice--of course--didn't respond. It just left me with this new little bomb of information just itching to explode in my head.

"Max?" Fang said softly. "Your head hurt?"

I nodded absently, my eyes drifting across the room to Spark's still form, all huddled up in an uncomfortable-looking ball on the floor at the end of Angel and Nudge's bed. Her head was turned so all I could see was the back of her dirty-blond head.

Carefree, spirited Spark, created to destroy the world? It seemed. . .well, if not impossible, really, _really _unlikely. Spark was too. . .too goofy, not serious enough to have evil motivations like that. Like, she'd rather use her powers for annoyance than for evil. Whatever those powers were.

"Max?" Fang repeated, touching my arm. I blinked and looked at him; his midnight eyes were focused on me, narrowed in concern.

"It. . .it was the Voice," I said quietly, watching Spark from my peripheral vision. She made no motion to signal that she was listening, but I was still paranoid. I couldn't very well talk about her potential to destroy the world when she was six feet away, could I?

I grabbed the laptop from in front of Fang and opened a Word document, quickly typing out what I'd wanted to say.

**voice just told me spark was created to destroy the world.**

Fang leaned over, read the sentence, and blinked. Clearly, he was shocked. He turned the laptop toward himself for a second and typed a response.

**you believe it?**

I paused for a second, thinking. **not sure. we don't know what powers she's going to develop over the next few months, or if those powers could blow up the world, but she doesn't seem the type to do that kind of thing.**

**she's too much of a kid**, Fang agreed. **but she **_**did **_**go through all that crap in the lab at salt lake.**

**so?**

**might've darkened her down some. **

**meaning. . .?**

**you know how angel was after we rescued her from the school. she was all quiet and less happy and stuff.**

**oh yeah. but spark's older. she should be able to handle it better, right?**

**we have no idea who she is, max. we've known her, what, a week? she might be the type who bottles it up until she explodes.**

**. . .that would be bad.**

**ya think?**

"Oh, my God, stop _typing!_" Spark groaned. I jumped and we both looked over to where Spark was sitting. She had her arms across her knees and her face hidden from view, but her tone was clearly annoyed. "I'm trying to _not _blow something up right now!"

I sent Fang a stricken look, but he shook his head and typed a final comment on the screen.

**remember in the clearing before she was kidnapped?**

I did remember. Spark had freaked out after I'd yelled at her and explained that when she was little, the whitecoats had tortured her until she made lighting strike something. Fang was saying she just trying to not do that again here in the hotel room.

For some reason, it didn't really calm me down.

* * *

It was pretty quiet in the hotel room. Dark, too, save for the milky glow radiating from the screen of Fang's laptop. He and I were the only ones still up; Max had fallen asleep a couple hours ago, and I was pretty sure Fang was more focused on his Internet-surfing than my being awake.

Sure, I'd dozed on and off, but that incessant _typing _kept waking me up. Normally, it wouldn't bother me, but I can't sleep when something important is on my mind.

That something important was Sy.

I really, _really _needed to check out that church parking lot. Maybe there would be something there that'd clue me in as to where he'd gone. . .Oh, what was I thinking? There was _no way _I'd be able to tell what he'd done when he'd woken up and realized I wasn't there.

I let out a breath and the typing paused.

"You're still up?"

"Um, no." I rubbed my eyes and stifled a yawn before turning to face Fang, who was staring at me. In my best spooky voice, I said, "This is the ghost of your dead business partner, come to haunt you, Ebenezer Scrooge!"

Fang rolled his eyes and looked back to his computer.

"Tonight, you will be visited by--oh, wait. You're not Scrooge!" I _tsk_ed and crossed my arms, shaking my head. "Dude, you need to _tell _me these things before I start haunting the wrong people!"

"You're weird."

"Yeah, well, your face," I muttered, sliding further down the side of the bed I was leaning against. The ultimate comeback, people. Ranks right up there with "your mom."

After about twenty minutes of blocking out the little clicky typing noises and attempting to find pictures in the texture of the ceiling, I had a sparkle of realization dance across my brain. I was actually surprised with myself for not remembering it earlier, because, quite frankly, it was a rather important piece to the puzzle that was now my life. I sat up and looked around for my backpack. After finding it amid the pile of other packs, I dug through it and pulled out a few things that can be classified as "stolen."

First object of examination: Con's precious iPod. First off, I turned the volume way down, so Fang wouldn't hear and ask what I was doing; then I went to the music library and scrolled through the various artists Con deemed worthy enough to grace his ears.

Green Day. . .Linkin Park. . .Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. . .Red Hot Chili Peppers. . .Hollywood Undead. . .I blinked, realizing I recognized most of the groups. What was creepy was that _I liked all the same music_. Not a single thing on there wasn't likable (in my opinion, anyway).

Creeped out, I quickly put the iPod down, instead grabbing Shadow's sketchbook. I opened it up to the very first page and found myself looking at a rather detailed scene, the smiling face of a small child I didn't know. Scruffy reddish hair and squinty green eyes, the kid had a ton of freckles and rather large front teeth.

Then I spotted the little handwritten note on the top corner of the page.

_5/19/03. son (?) of dr. riley smith._

Right. . .Shadow messed with memories. Riley Smith (whoever that was) had pretty much lost this particular memory of this kid, his son. Shadow must've drawn the original in this little book, almost as if he didn't want it to be lost. That or he just couldn't get it out of his own head any other way.

Whichever reason, it made me put down the book as well. I quickly flipped through Swift's journal, but found that it was written mostly in some kind of code that I didn't have the audacity to crack at this moment in time. A few random names popped out at me--the names of the anti-flock, Julian Newell, and even my own name, Spark--but nothing else was of interest.

That left the laptop.

I took a breath and pulled it into my lap, opening it up before hitting the power button. I waited impatiently as the screen blinked to life, the first password-bar staring at me blankly and ominously. There was no little _forgot your password? _button, so I was out of luck getting a hint. Hm. . .what would the anti-flock use as a password to their personal, private computer?

_Foster._

The word just popped into my head. I had no idea where it came from, or what it meant, or why it had a purpose, but I thought, what the hey, it can't hurt to try. So I typed in "foster" and hit enter.

_First password accepted. Next password?_

I blinked, completely taken by surprise. It'd actually worked, and I had no idea why. "Foster" meant almost nothing to me--sure, I'd been a foster kid for about a year, but really, none of those memories were substantial enough to mean anything. . .

But whatever. Sy had said the thing had a five-layer encryption, so that meant four more passwords to go. Plus, there was probably going to be a last-defense password as well, in case the laptop had been stolen (which it had).

Don't ask me how I knew that.

So, really, I had five more passwords to guess. Hm. . .

_Huntsman._

_Yates._

_Summerfield._

_Gomolchak._

_Ackerly._

_Passwords accepted. Welcome._

Um. . .right. So, I'd just broken into the anti-flock's high-tech laptop, with random words that had popped into my head. Except. . .the last one _hadn't _been so random. It'd been my name. My adopted surname, Ackerly.

It meant something. I just knew it. But I was afraid if I even thought about thinking about it, it'd disappear, turn out to be fake, and I'd just have my hopes crushed like a walnut in a nutcracker, and. . .

I shook my head, cutting myself off mid-rant. _Think about that later, _I told myself. _Focus on this now_.

Right there on the desktop was a folder labeled _personal files_. And right next to it was _decoded files_. And right next to _that_ was _decoded cali group files._

I'd just hit the proverbial gold at the end of the f*cked up, genetically altered rainbow. If I was guessing right, then in those little virtual folders were the files on me, the anti-flock, and Max and the rest of the bird-kids that were in this hotel room with me. It seemed. . .too good to be true. Too. . .easy.

I ran my finger over the mousepad thingy and found the cursor. Then I carefully guided it over to _decoded files _and double-clicked.

A window popped up, and inside there were six Word documents, each labeled with a name: Con, Blaze, Shadow, Swift, Avi, Spark. I minimized the window and opened the _decoded cali group files _to find six more documents, labeled Maximum Ride, Goth Kid, Blind Kid, Black Girl, Little Boy, Little Girl.

The back of my neck suddenly prickled and I tensed.

"What are you. . .looking at?"

* * *

Sy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

It'd taken less than forty-five minutes to get back to Salt Lake City and park the car across the street from the front entrance to the main lab. There was no way of telling if Spark had been re-captured or if she'd found her friends and flown off to God-knew-where. Maybe coming back hadn't been such a good idea after all. . .

He ducked down as the front doors opened. He grabbed the hat off the dashboard and crammed it on his head, hiding his distinguishable hair before he peeked through the window.

There were four people--Con, Shadow, a dark-haired scientist Sy didn't recognize, and, surprisingly, his own mother, Dr. Marein Westerfield. Con looked angry, Shadow looked confused, the whitecoat looked irritated, and his mom. . .

The tall, modelesque woman looked worried. About him? Probably. Not like he cared. Not like she'd given a crap about him any other time in his life. She flicked her bleach-blond hair out of her pale face, blinking something--tears?--out of the sapphire eyes he'd inherited.

The group of four crossed the parking lot and piled into a black SUV, Marein driving, the whitecoat riding shotgun, and the bird-kids in the back. The car pulled out of the lot and he ducked again as it sped past his Explorer. After it'd turned down a side road, Sy sat up, absently pulling the hat from his head and tossing it back onto the dashboard. He stared after the SUV, thinking.

The look on Con's face. . .it was really odd. In the scattered times Sy had met him before all this had started, the kid had never shown much emotion. He'd kept up a cool, distant, cocky exterior. Sy had never really seen him look that. . .broodingly furious before.

It had to be Spark.

She hadn't been taken. She must've found her friends and gotten the hell away. Otherwise there'd be some sort of. . .triumph, maybe, or happiness in Con's expression. He'd be glad that he'd recaptured Spark. But he didn't look glad, so Spark was still out of his reach. Which was a good thing.

But. . .Sy frowned, thinking. He'd been getting through the last twenty-four hours on the fly, one thought at a time. Escape. Drive. Run from the cops. Find a store. Take care of Spark. Find a place to rest. Drive again and find Spark.

And now that he knew Spark was free. . .what was he supposed to do now?

* * *

oh, and in case you haven't checked my profile lately, i _am _looking for pictures of spark, sy, and the anti-flock. so if you've seen any pics that could possibly be them, please send me the link! it would me much appreciated.

there's a poll on my profile as well. i suggest you participate in it.

'till next time, folks!


	28. Chapter 28

sorry it took so long!

this may be the first chapter i've written from scratch. all the other chapters had been pre-determined somehow, either a copy/paste from the collassal archive of random scenes on my computer or taken from my notebook.

we'll see how it goes. . .

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**28. my past, your past**_

"What are you. . .looking at?"

_"Shit!!"_ I jumped so, so, _so _bad at that!! Like, seriously, I actually dropped the laptop and almost squealed like a sissy. I whipped around so fast I cricked my neck.

"Holy ba-_jeezus_, kid!! Don't freaking _do _that!!"

Angel yawned and rubbed her eyes sleepily. She'd woken up and crawled over to lie behind me on the bed. Beyond her, at the little table, Fang looked up from his own laptop, frowning as he realized for the first time that I was doing something.

"I started having a weird dream," said Angel. "There was a computer and a bunch of words and numbers and pictures and stuff. . ."

"Uh. . ." It sounded like my apprehensive thoughts had drifted into our little mind-readers mind as she slept.

"Where'd you get that?"

Fang's voice made me jump again, and I whirled around to glare at him. "You guys need to stop doing that!"

"Where did you get the computer?" he repeated stonily, unfazed by my anger. I rolled my eyes.

"I stole it from Con and them, jerkwing. Where else?"

"And you thought you'd just keep it from us?" he asked irritably.

"No, actually, I forgot about it until now. Back off."

Angel tapped my shoulder and asked, "What's even on it, anyway?" I hesitated, trying to think of how to explain, when she either read my mind or actually looked at the computer screen. She gasped. "Are those about _us_?!"

I winced at her loudish tone, which ended up waking the other four members of the flock and Total. Max was at us first, because she was the leader and had to know every single little thing and whatknot.

"What's going on?" she demanded. "Why does Spark have the laptop?"

"I'm offended by your tone, Max," I said. I turned slightly away, hugging the laptop in a possessively childish way. "_C'est* _mine."

"Where'd you get a laptop?" the Gasman asked sleepily, plopping down on the end of Nudge and Angel's bed. Nudge sat up with a giant yawn as Iggy dragged a chair over to where the rest of the flock had gathered around me. Total trotted across the bed and jumped down to be next to me.

"Stole it," I said shortly. I quickly minimized both windows and shut the laptop, wondering if they even wanted to know who their parents were.

"Of course we wanna know, Spark!" Angel cried. She reached over my shoulder and opened the computer again, adding, "We've been trying to find our parents ever since I got kidnapped by the School!"

I winced at the sudden uprising of questions from the rest of the flock. _Nice going, kid._

_Sorry, _she thought back, but it didn't really sound like she meant it.

"Everybody shush!" I said loudly, waving my hands to cut off all the voices. When they quieted down, Max jumped right in with a new question before I could explain.

"You know who our parents are?"

I sighed impatiently. "No, I do not. However, I _did _just find files on us. _They _probably know."

Even Max went wide-eyed in shock at that one. I nervously glanced around at the suddenly-wide-awake flock, holding my breath until Total's nose on my hand made me jump.

"Well, out with it, Sparky," he said bluntly. "Who are they?"

I blinked and re-opened the _decoded cali group files _window and hesitantly inquired, "You guys wanna know where you came from?"

"Totally!" Nudge exclaimed. She bounced from the pillow side of the bed down to the end, hovering anxiously over my shoulder. "I mean, even if we never go meet them, I wanna know who they are, and if I'm really named Monique, and if my parents are really back in Arizona, and. . ."

"Nudge," Max said softly. "Calm down, all right?" She knelt down next to me and peered at the computer as I moved the mouse over to her file.

"Why are you doing mine first?" she asked, sounding surprised as I clicked on the document. A little loading bar popped up and I tapped my fingers nervously on my knee.

"You know who your real parents are, right? If it's the same, we'll know it's not bullsh--er, bull. . .crap."

The window popped up and everybody held their breath, including Max. I stared at the words typed on the document and swallowed.

_Maximum Ride. Born: April 5, 1993 to Valencia Martinez and Jeb Batchelder in Phoenix, Arizona._

"It's. . .real," Max mumbled, blinking at the computer screen. "They're my real mom and dad."

"That means the rest of it's real, too," Iggy said. After a second, he added, "Read mine."

"Mine, too!" Nudge cried.

"Me too, me too!"

"And me!"

"All right, all right, calm down," I said, waving my hand. "I'll read 'em all."

Total clambered into my lap with a huff, pouting at the computer. "How come _I _don't have a file?"

"You're, um, a dog, Totally," I said, rubbing his head. "Those s-o-b scientists probably don't think you're important."

"To be evil scum-sucking geneticists is one thing. But to be _rude _as well? Disgraceful!" he sighed dramatically. I rolled my eyes and moved the mouse.

"We're only focused on parents and location, correct?" I asked. "Let's go oldest to youngest, and then we'll read the rest of it tomorrow."

"That means Fang's first!" Nudge exclaimed.

_Daniel Finley. Born: August 29, 1993 to Jacqueline Finley and Daniel Mitchell in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania._

"You were named after your dad, Danny-boy," I said. I turned the screen toward Fang so he could read his file. He came down to one knee next to Max and narrowed his eyes. The dark irisis darted quickly back and forth along the lines of his past.

"His name's _Danny_?" Iggy snickered. Fang rolled his eyes and messed with the mouse of the laptop.

"_Your _name's Jimmy," he said.

"What?"

Nudge looked over to the computer and gasped. "Iggy! Your name's James Griffiths! Like those people said in Washington D.C.! They were your real parents!!"

I took the computer back and squinted at Iggy's file, reading out:

_James Griffiths. Born: October 14, 1993 to Emily and Thomas Griffiths in Washington D.C._

For some reason, Iggy went very, very still, his fists clenching until his knuckles were white. I glanced at Max and she shook her head, like, _I'll tell you later_.

"Okay," I muttered, minimizing the document. I clicked on Nudge's and cleared my throat.

_Monique Jackson. Born: June 30, 1996 to Sydney and Joseph Jackson in Tipisco, Arizona._

"Tipisco! I'm really from there!" she exclaimed, jumping off the bed and doing a weird little happy-dance. "And my name's really Monique!"

"Me next, me next!" the Gasman crowed, tugging on the back of my jacket.

"Fine, fine!"

_Kenneth Smith. Born: January 21, 1999 to Sarah and Eric Smith in Lansing, Michigan._

"Happy, Kenny?"

"What about me?" Angel prodded excitedly.

_Victoria Smith. Born: December 2, 2001 to Sarah and Eric Smith in Lansing, Michigan._

"Well, you're really Gazzy's sister. Your name's Victoria."

"Where's Lansing?" the Gasman asked, peering over my shoulder at the computer again. "And which state's Michigan?"

"That's just where you were born," I said, scrolling down some. "As of 2004, your parents are in Green Bay. It's in the northern part of the U.S., by Illinois."

"Oh, Max!" Angel said, tugging on Max's sleeve. "Max, I wanna go see them."

"What?" she exclaimed, sounding surprised. "Angel, I thought. . .I thought we agreed we weren't going to try to find our parents."

"But that was when we didn't know who they were. And now we know, and. . .I want to," Angel said in a defeated tone. "Even though they sold us. I still kinda wanna meet 'em."

"Yeah, me too," the Gasman added. "Like, I hate them for letting the School mess us up and stuff, but they're our parents. Like, our real ones."

"You've already met your mom, Max," Angel said. "And she's really, really nice. I wanna see if my mom's like that."

"Angel. . ."

"Hey, Spark, you didn't read yours yet!" Nudge said suddenly. I flinched involuntarily; I wasn't totally sure I _wanted _to know my parents. I had perfectly good fosters back in Colorado. Well, maybe not _perfect_, but at least I had them.

"Yeah, read it," Iggy prodded. "I wanna know what kinda screwballs gave you your annoying DNA."

"Ha, ha." I hesitated for a second before opening the anti-flock window and clicking on my own file. I closed my eyes as the document popped up, too anxious to look.

"Somebody else read it to me," I said, lifting the computer from my knees. "I don't wanna see it."

The laptop came away from my grip and I dropped my hands to my sides, clenching them into fists.

It could be anybody. Anybody in the entire world. People I didn't know, who thought they'd lost a child fifteen years ago, when really that child was alive, and breathing, and had wings, and. . .

"Your, uh, name is Nicole," Max said awkwardly.

My brain shorted out and my eyes flew open, staring at the wall in front of me. _No_.

"Nicole, uh, Ackerly. Your birthday's March thirteenth, and your parents are Phil and Marie, and you were born in Chicago."

_No. No way. No way no way no way no way no way. . .!_

"As of 1999 your parents are in Monument, Colorado."

_No. As of 2008. As of right this second that's where they are._

_My foster family's my real family._

_They're my real family!!_

A hand touched my shoulder, but I wasn't paying attention. Countless memories were spiraling across my mind's eye, of my parents--my _real _parents!!--my brother, my sister, my grandma, my grandpa, my cousins, my uncles, my aunts. . .

Iggy shook my shoulder. Just when did he get beside me? "Spark. You okay?"

"N-no," I stuttered truthfully. I was literally trembling, so happy and hyped up and confused. Everybody looked at me funny and I laughed hollowly. "I-I-I. . .I know them."

"Huh?"

"What d'you mean?" the Gasman asked, looking down at me from the bed with interest.

"I _know _them. They're my foster family. The people who adopted me are my parents!!"

"That. . .that's impossible," Max said disbelievingly. "The odds of it are, like, one in a kajillion!"

"I don't think 'kajillion' is a number," I said happily. "But I'm that one!"

"Max, I wanna find my parents too!" Angel said. "If yours and Spark's are good, then ours probably are too!"

"Yeah, I wanna meet 'em!" Gazzy added.

"Me too, me too!" Nudge cried.

As Max was attacked by requests to find their parents, I picked up the computer and scrolled through my file. It listed my family's medical history, what my chances were of contracting genetic disease, what powers I was expected to have, how long I was supposed to live. . .

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Total said, pawing at my hand. "Go back. I saw _life span_."

"They know our life span?" Iggy asked quickly. Fang looked up sharply, but the others didn't seem to hear.

"Um, I guess," I said slowly, scrolling back up. "They know mine, at least."

_Expected to live until December 25, 2086._

"Huh. Guess I'm dead by Christmas of '86."

"2086? That's, like, eighty years from now!" Iggy exclaimed.

"Technically, it's seventy-eight years," I corrected in my best math-teacher voice. Then I smiled. "But it looks like we don't have to worry about expiring for a long time."

* * *

Avi sat straight up in her bed, heart pounding.

Spark was incredibly, incredibly happy right now. For some reason, the girl had stayed in touch with the blond bird-kid's emotions, and right now, all she could sense was happiness, joy, and excitement.

Trying to slow her breathing, Avi lay back down, countless thoughts swirling through her mind.

She herself had been extremely content until now--she'd called her mom on the cell phone Spark had left her. She'd been able to talk to her, and her brothers, and asked them how they'd been. Avi's mother had begged her to come home, but she'd had to say no.

Avi didn't know when she'd be able to escape. She wasn't like Spark--she didn't have anybody to help her, and she was never quick at pickign locks and sidestepping other security measures. Besides, Mr. Jay had hinted that he knew where her family was, so even if she _did _escape, and even if she _did _get rid of her necklace with the tracking chip, they'd find her in a second.

Speaking of family. . .

Avi turned over, staring at her purple bedroom wall. Con and Swift had revealed that their laptop had gone missing, and that Spark had probably stolen it. If she'd been smart enough to crack all six passwords--which were their last names, of course--then she'd've been able to find their files.

Was that it?

Had Spark opened her file?

Did she know who her parents were?

Too many questions for one mind to hold. Closing her eyes, Avi resolved to talk to Swift tomorrow. He was always a good listener. Good secret-keeper, too, given the fact that he didn't like to talk.

Tomorrow, then.

* * *

*c'est=pronounced 'say.' and it's french for 'it is.'

hope i didn't epically fail at creating the flock's past.

and again, i am _so _sorry it took a while to get this up. i was actually really progressing with my novel.

updating for this month will be slow and sporadic at best. . .


	29. Chapter 29

so very sorry. i was really rushing to finish my nano story. (guess who can write 7,743 words in six hours? that's right, me!) plus, my keyboard broke, so i'm forced to use a stupid one with big clunky keys and a tiny backspace button. it takes some getting used to. . .

and i'm sorry this chapter is short, too. but i decided i had to update with something or else you'd all come after me with torches and various farm tools as weapons.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**29. last chapter**_

High in the air somewhere over the midwest United States, if you had binoculars (or really, really good eyesight), you'd be able to see seven oddly-shaped birds. So oddly-shaped, in fact, that you might go so far as to say they're. . .why, children with wings.

If you're _not _retarded, you have figured out that I am talking about myself, Max, Fang, Iggy, Nudge, the Gasman, and Angel. Total was taking a break in Iggy's arms, and nearly everybody was in a good mood.

If you ask why, I may have to throttle you. It's 'cuz we've figured out who our parents are, silly!!

"So how are we going to go about tracking all these people down?" I asked, tilting my wings toward Max. She shrugged.

"Not really sure. My guess is that we start in the area Itex had them last, find a phonebook and see if they're still there, and if so, great. If not, go to their old neighborhood, ask around, see what happened to 'em."

"Oh." I was quiet for a second, looking down at the roads beneath us. Every time I saw a blue Explorer (of which there were a surprising amount), I couldn't help but think of Sy. Like, where was he? What was he doing? Was he still free, or had he gotten himself captured somehow?

"You miss him, don't you?"

I jumped at the sound of Angel's voice and looked around. She was flying just above me now, smiling sadly, reading my mind. I quickly tried to wipe said mind blank.

"I knew him what, a day?" I said, trying to be all casual. "How well can you know someone in a day?"

"Enough to miss him." Angel gave her wings an extra flap and surged ahead of me, joining Nudge and the Gasman in an excited conversation about parents.

_Why you. . ._

We were heading for Angel and Gazzy's parents first. Then we'd circle around Philadelphia for Fang, then back across the States to Nudge and Max. (Iggy's thing was he'd already met his parents, and they'd been jerks, so we were skipping them.)

As for me, well. . .hopefully, I'd finally be able to go home. To my real family. I wasn't looking forward to the goodbye scene with Max and the rest, but I couldn't stay with these guys forever. Maybe I'd go visit every once in a while. Or something.

I flicked hair out of my eyes and looked ahead. My hand drifted down to my necklace, a little black rock tied to a string that I'd had since before I can remember. It was the one thing (besides my stolen items. . .most of which were going in whatever river we came across first) that still connected me to Blaze, Con, Swift, Shadow, and Avi. And Dr. Julian Newell, whoever that was. My memories of him were still a tad foggy. But maybe that was a good thing--that I had the necklace, I mean. It'd always remind me, no matter where I was or what I was doing or who I was with, that I'd escaped from a horrible place.

I dunno. Roots are an important thing for me, I guess.

Oh, and speaking of roots, I should tell you what we did with the anti-flock's files:

We erased them. Both coded and de-coded versions. Did a quick once-over for any powers they might spring on us if we ever ran into them again, then hit _delete_. Then we went to the recycle bin and hit _empty recycle bin_. (Because if you don't do that, it's like it's still there.)

You may think this rather spiteful and mean of us, but need I remind you just how badly I got beaten up by those creeps? Go back and read chapters fourteen through eighteen if you've forgotten. If you haven't, then, well, you should understand where this hatefulness comes from, and understand why I deleted those files. If I was to keep this computer, then I didn't want any other reminders of them.

Down on the roads below, another blue Explorer sped by, and I frowned slightly. _Where are ya, Sy? _Maybe I'd go off and find him first, just to explain why I'd ditched him. And to apologize for it. And to ask what he was gonna do now that he was free.

Hm. Free.

Such a lovely word, isn't it?

* * *

"Track. Her. Down," Con said tightly, gripping the back of Swift's chair so hard his knuckles turned white.

Swift rolled his eyes, fingers tiptoeing across the keyboard to the new laptop on the table in front of him. The loss of the personal files had been a blow, as had the trashed hard copies, but nobody really cared about that right now. What was important was finding Spark again. Now that they knew they could track her chipped necklace, that was the easiest way to find her. And that was what Swift was trying to do now.

"Well, she's moving," he said quietly, scrutinizing the map on the computer screen. A little blue dot was blinking, showing Spark's location off in the middle of the United States. "She's somewhere over Nebraska, heading northeast."

"Then why are _we _still _here_? Let's go!" Con whirled around and stalked out of the room, followed closely by Shadow and Blaze. Swift sighed, shut down the computer, and made to follow when Avi held him back.

"Swift. Wait."

"What is it?" he asked, glancing at the door. Whatever she was gonna say, it'd better be quick. Con would be pissed if they didn't leave, like, right away to find Spark.

Avi hesitated for a moment, then blurted, "I think she cracked her file. Spark, I mean." Swift's eyes widened a tiny bit, asking a silent question, and Avi babbled on. "Well, at least I _think _she is, because last night I sensed that she was really, really happy, and, well, she wouldn't be unless it was something big, right? So I thought that 'cuz she's such a good code-cracker and all, she might've seen the files, and the others, so they might be heading for one of the Cali group's families, and. . ."

"Swift! Avi!" Con yelled. Both of them jumped. "Get your asses in gear and let's _go_!"

"So I think we should try to find out where their parents are, y'know?" Avi said quickly, following Swift as he went out the door and turned down the hall. Con was waiting impatiently at a window, while Blaze and Shadow were nowhere in sight. Probably already outside. "Narrow down the search?"

Swift shrugged his backpack from his shoulders and put the laptop inside. "Maybe. Tell Con later, when he's not pissed off."

"Okay. Thanks, Swift. I needed to tell someone."

The talon-footed bird kid shrugged again, slinging his pack back onto his back. Then he clambered out the window and jumped, spreading his wings and flapping them hard to catch up to Blaze and Shadow, who were circling a good thousand feet up. Avi followed, and Con was last.

The five members of the anti-flock turned their wings northeast and took off, once again on the quest to find Spark.


	30. Chapter 30

yeah, so i get that the last chapter was short, and it might not've been the best, but i'm still a bit offended. unless the site's messed up and i can't see my reviews, then only one person left a comment about the last chapter.

thanks, GrimmGurl4Lyf3.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**30. power of the sea**_

So, like, last time I was rather. . .optimistic. Like, "we found our parents, so we were gonna go find them, and we all lived happily ever after. The end. Yay for us."

You should know by now that life for a bird-kid is _never _that easy. What _really _happened was this.

Somewhere over the Nebraska/Iowa border, two quick shots rang out in the sky. There was a sharp cry and a yelp from Total and next thing I knew Iggy had dipped dramatically in the air, sinking fast, crimson blood staining his shirt somewhere around the liver.

"Iggy!" half the flock (including myself) shouted.

"Everybody scatter!" Max cried. "Iggy, you okay?!"

"I just got _shot_!" he yelled angrily. He was sinking at an alarming rate despite his attempts to remain airborne. "_Again_! How d'you. . ._think _I am?!"

"Fang, Spark, don't let him fall!" Max ordered, darting up high in the sky to look for the shooters. I tilted my wings and dove in unison with Fang, braking and catching Iggy under his right side, near the wound. I started to apply pressure, ignoring Iggy's hiss of pain, and looked up at Max. She was turning around and around, looking utterly confused.

"Where'd it come from?" I called. She threw up her hands in a helpless gesture and I glanced over my shoulder, squinting. My eyes burned momentarily and the five shooters zoomed into view. My now-yellow, hawk-like eyes went wide. "Max! Trade with me!"

Max swept down and I dropped lower so she could take my place at Iggy's side. Then I darted up higher than the others, grabbing my gun.

_How could they've gotten that close? _I thought incredulously, focusing on the anti-flock in loose formation a couple hundred feet behind us. They each had a gun up and ready. I cocked and brought the weapon up with both hands, aiming. Tingles of electricity jolted down my arms and I fired, the bullet able to make it there through that extra electrical boost. But they scattered, so I missed. But they re-formed their formation quickly and sped up, beginning to shoot at us in earnest.

We dodged a few rounds until Con held up a hand to ceasefire. To me, he shouted, "Give it up, Spark! You've got one gun against our five!"

"You guys get out of here!" I yelled to the flock. The lightning was already dancing through my arms again, particularly strong over the scars from my little incident with the light socket. "Get out of the sky!"

"What d'you plan on doing?" Fang shouted. I glanced down at him and the rest of the flock and found most of them staring at me with wide eyes. I guess they had a right to. I was wielding a smoking gun, had bright yellow eyes, and had sticking-up hair from excess static. I must've looked kinda scary.

"I'll scare 'em off if I can, fight 'em if I have to!" I called back.

Then Max surprised me. She and Fang handed Iggy--who was slowly losing more and more blood along with his consciousness--off to Nudge and Gazzy, and them three (plus Angel and Total) started diving for the ground. Max and Fang came up to hover by me.

"Um. . .what the hell are you doing?" I asked them as Con and the others drew closer.

"I'm not letting you take the fall for the rest of us," Max said firmly. "It doesn't look like they wanna fight, and I need to know who they are and why they're chasing us."

_Oh, it's for a number of reasons, _I thought, not wanting to risk angering Max any more than I did on a regular basis. _They want me, mainly. Dead or alive. If alive, back with them so we can go around wreaking havoc upon the free world._

The anti-flock arrived in due time, guns raised but fingers carefully away from triggers, Con in front, flanked by Blaze and Shadow with Avi and Swift hanging a little behind. I kept my own gun ready just in case.

"Well, Con," I said carefully. "Looks like you found us. What took so long?"

A muscle in Con's jaw twitched; I was baiting him, and he knew it. "We seem to have. . .misplaced our previous laptop. Took a bit to get a new one." He made a gesture with his hand and the others lowered their guns. I followed suit, but warily.

"So what do you want, exactly?" I asked. "Thought I made it obvious back in Salt Lake that I'm never going back with you." I ignored Max's sharp, inquisitive look.

Blaze shrugged one shoulder, unnaturally calm considering, you know, that _I _was around. "Doesn't matter. Have to bring you back home whether you like it or not."

"You mean I get to leave?!" I asked with fake, over-the-top enthusiasm. "Awesome!"

Shadow's mouth twisted into a sneer. Kinda creepy on an eight--oh, sorry, excuse me: eight-and-a-_half_-year-old kid. "No, stupid, we mean _home_. Chicago."

"Sorry, but I'm gonna have to decline. Sorry, bro."

In a flash Con raised his gun and fired. I twitched violently and felt my jacket ripple as the bullet barely nicked it. I went to return fire when Con cried out in outrage, "Is that my jacket?!?"

_Oh, right_. Both Max and Fang looked at me, but I just smirked at Con. I raised my arms and twisted them around. "Well, you could I liberated it from your closet. Like what I did to the sleeves?"

"Th-they're completely gone!"

"Stop being such a chick. It's just a jacket," I said. Fang snorted and nearly got shot in the arm by Blaze. Her eyes glinted silver as she glared at Fang, daring him to laugh again.

Then she looked at me and jerked her chin at my full-arm bandages. "Nice band-aids, Sparky. Suicidal, are ya?"

"Only when I'm lookin' at you, Blaze," I replied sweetly. And speaking of looking, I had my hawk's eyes in play. I could just about count the stitches in the anti-flock's jeans.

"Look, can we just cut the crap?" Max suddenly interrupted as Blaze's fists clenched and burst into flame. All eyes turned to her and she went on. "If you wanted us dead, you'd've shot us by now. So what do you want?"

"Don't get us wrong, Ride," Con said, raising his hands defensively. "We want you dead. But orders, y'know?"

"How cute. They still follow orders!" I commented.

"Con, I'm getting bored," Shadow whined. "Can't we just kill 'em and get it over with?"

"Capture if we can, kill if we must," Swift corrected quietly.

"Can I opt for neither?" Fang asked mildly. Then he grabbed my gun out of my hand and pulled the trigger once, twice, three times, getting Swift down in the lower part of his ribcage and grazing Shadow's thigh.

"Go, go, go!" I shouted, folding my wings and dropping like a rock. Bullets grazed me, but I twisted around and started shooting for the ground, my head suddenly throbbing as I realized my hawk eyes were no longer in use. _Screw, screw, screw!_

I saw Max and Fang pull ahead of me, steering for the tiny town beneath us. We landed among civilians quickly, a glance to the sky showing the anti-flock hot on our tail. Angel seemingly contacted Max mentally and we soon arrived in the back lot of a drugstore.

Nudge, Gazzy, Total and Angel were all around Iggy, who was hunched over on the curb of the sidewalk. He looked in pain--not as bad as I'd probably looked upon my escape with Sy, but still wicked pale and bloody.

"Okay, this is _not _good," Max muttered, kneeling beside Iggy to inspect the wound.

"Gee, ya think?" I snapped. I put my hand to my aching head. "What else is new in our lives?!"

"You're not helping," Fang said quietly, handing me my gun. I sighed and stuck it in my waistband.

"I know." I looked to the sky, easily picking out Con, Blaze, Shadow, Swift, and Avi. They were circling, looking for us. "Okay, they are going to find us if we stay here. We need to get out of sight, like, now."

"I don't know how far Iggy can go," Max said in semi-panic. "There's nowhere to--"

A car horn blared loudly and we all jumped. The younger kids and Max crowded around Iggy, blocking him, and Fang and I turned around to face the car speeding into the back lot, fishtailing sharply and spitting gravel.

My heart jumped. The car was a blue 1996 Ford Explorer, and out of the driver's side window a head of silver head was leaning. He looked kinda mad, but still. It was him.

"Spark!" Sy shouted. "Looks like you need saving! Again!"

"Sy!!" I yelled happily, drawing looks from the flock. Laughing, I called, "What're you doing here?"

"Saving your runaway ass is what!" he answered. "Get in the damn car!"

"Total, here!" I held out my arms and the little Scottie jumped up.

"Where are we going?" he asked curiously.

"Spark, who is that?" Max demanded, standing up. "What're you. . ."

"It's okay, Max, I know him," I said, grinning. "He helped me escape from that place in Salt Lake." She hesitated while I fidgeted. "Look, he's got a car, it's big enough for all of us, and we can go! Come _on_!"

Max glanced at Fang, who shrugged. With a groan, she finally said, "Okay, _fine_! As long as you trust him!"

"I do!" I called back, already running. Sy was waiting, drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. I vaulted over the hood and jumped in the passenger seat, Nudge, the Gasman, and Angel sliding into the back a few seconds later.

"Nudge, Gazzy, back-back, now!" I called back as the elder flock members came up to the car. "You too, Fang! We can't let Iggy jerk around back there!"

Max pulled the door closed and Sy slammed the gas, jerking the car out of the parking lot and onto the road with a squeal of tires.

Nobody spoke for about a minute, the only sound being Total's panting and the music softly seeping from the radio. As we sped down the highway, I observed Sy (who was, by the way, driving one-handed now; the other was lying casually on the arm-rest between our seats) out of the corner of my eye.

It'd been what, a couple of days, but he seemed even skinnier than I remembered. He'd changed clothes--now he was wearing light blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt, scuffy white tennis shoes covering his feet. There was a thin silver chain around his neck, disappearing under his shirt, and a bigger watch strapped to his left wrist, and for the first time I noticed a black beanie on the dashboard. But his eyes were still that incredible blue, and his hair was still that super-odd silver-blue color.

Total nipped at my fingers to get my attention. "Yo, Sparky. You gonna introduce us or what?"

"Oh." I blinked and twisted in my seat. Sy turned off the radio and I said, "Guys, this is the kid who just saved our feathers. A.k.a. Dylan Westerfield, a.k.a. Fish Boy, a.k.a. Project Poseidon, a.k.a. Sy. Sy, this is everyone."

Sy glanced in the mirror at the backseaters and nodded his head in acknowledgement. " 'Sup."

"This's Total," I continued, pointing at the little dog in my lap. I pointed to each flock member in turn as I said their name. "Then it's Angel, Iggy, and Max in the back seat, and the Gasman--a.k.a. Gazzy--Nudge, and Fang in the back-back."

"Hi," Angel said brightly, leaning forward in her seat. Smiling at Sy, she said, "Thanks for saving us!"

"You're, uh, welcome," Sy replied, looking back to flash her a smile. "It was nothing."

"Yeah-huh!" Nudge protested, peeking up over the top of Max's seat. "That turn you did in the parking lot was way cool! How'd you even know where we were?"

"Well, after _she_ ditched me to go back for you guys," he responded, tilting his head my way, "I had to go back and be sure you hadn't gotten captured or anything. Then I just followed Con and the others, 'cuz I knew they'd go after Spark."

"Were you this crazy-smart when I met you?" I asked accusingly. Sy rolled his eyes.

"Um, I think Iggy's unconscious," the Gasman said nervously. "He needs help, like, right away!"

"We can't go to another hospital," Max said, glancing back at Fang. "Someone would find us, like last time."

"Dude, what even happened?" Sy asked, checking the rearview mirror. "Did he stabbed, shot, what?"

"Shot," I said shortly, twisting around so I could see Iggy. "Hey, did the bullet go through?"

"Uh, I think one did, but the other looks like it's still in there," Max said. I reached in my pocket and pulled out one of my extra bullets; I held it up and looked at Nudge.

"Can you get this? With your magnetism?"

As a response, the bullet flew from my hand to hers, and I nodded my head. "Try to get the bullet out of Iggy, okay? Sy, we need a place to hide."

"This is a drifter's town," he said absently, turning right down a side street. "There are motels all around."

"Got your mom's credit card?"

"You bet. Doubt she even realizes I took it."

"Then we can get a room, right? Plea--"

"Don't even." Sy pressed on the gas and flashed me a smile. "Pretty sure I still owe you for something or other we did the other night."

"Aw, whatever," I sighed, leaning back in my seat. "You still rock."

"I'm surprised it took you that long to figure out."

"I got it!" Nudge cried from the back, and I assumed that meant she'd retrieved the bullet from inside of Iggy. A few seconds later, Sy had pulled the car into a cheap motel parking lot. Then he left to see if we could check in, calling, "I'll be back" over his shoulder.

As soon as the door shut, floods of questions crashed up to my ears from the back seat. Most prevalent was Max's:

"Who the heck is this kid?"

"His name is Sy," I said calmly, not turning around. My headache had ebbed since we'd gotten in the car, but now it was back full strength. My stomach was starting to kick up some weird nausea as well. Damn side effects of hawk eyes. "He's the kid who rescued me from that he--eck in Salt Lake City. We got to Jackson before we pulled over to crash for the night, but I ditched him to come back for you guys."

"So you've known him a grand total of, what, a day? And already you're best friends," Fang said sardonically.

"Like him better than I like you," I snapped, and Max glared at me through the rearview mirror.

"The most important thing I need to know is_ can we trust him?_"

"I'd trust him with my life," I said truthfully. "He's saved it twice already."

A knock on the window made us all jump. It was Sy, holding up two key cards. I leaned over and rolled down the window and he said, "They only had one room, I hope that's okay."

"Yeah, it's fine," I said quickly. "Let's just get Iggy inside so we can try and fix him up."

Ten minutes later, the entire flock (plus Sy) was up in Room 13 of the Super 8 Motel, hesitating and fretting over Iggy's ever-worsening condition. He was fully unconscious now, his t-shirt soaked in blood. Looked like the one bullet pierced somewhere around his liver region, and the other had hit him diagonally across the lower parts of his ribcage.

"I don't know if a hospital can be avoided," I said uneasily. Max, Fang, and I were by the bed we'd dumped Iggy on; Sy was trying his best to keep the younger kids back, so they wouldn't get scared or anything. "I mean, it looks pretty bad, Max, if any of his organs were hit. . ."

"No. Last time any of us was in a hospital, it turned out to be a giant trap," she said firmly. "We have to find a way to fix it on our own."

"I don't think we _can!_"

"No, wait, Angel!" Sy said, but a second later Angel was at Max's side, trying to hold her hand.

"Iggy's gonna be okay, right Max?" she asked tearfully, baby blue eyes watering.

"Of course, Angel," Max replied soothingly. "Look, why don't you go over back with Nudge and Gazzy. . ."

"Uh, sorry." I jumped at Sy's voice, which was right behind me; a quick glance showed the entire flock was now gathered around Iggy's bed. "I couldn't keep them back. . .Did you clean it out yet?"

"Yeah," Fang said shortly. "Why?"

"N-nothing." Sy stepped around me, eyes fixed on the bloody strips of t-shirt we'd wrapped around Iggy's stomach. Slowly, he lowered himself down onto the bed beside Iggy, reaching for the knot tying the shirt together.

"Don't _touch _it!" Max snapped, reaching to slap his hand away. I stopped her, watching Sy in interest.

"Just wait," I said to Max. Sy's eyes had sorta glazed over, and there were flecks of red in them. "I don't think it's bad."

"I need saltwater," Sy said absently, deft fingers picking apart the knot in the t-shirt. Gazzy ran to the bathroom and came back with a plastic cup filled with tap water--Angel found some salt and sprinkled it into the cup. Sy dropped the bloody t-shirt to the floor and Gazzy offered him the cup of water.

"Just hold it there," Sy mumbled. He finally blinked and turned his eyes to the water. His eyes had more red than blue in them now, looking like a weird, uneven mix of ruby and sapphire. He held his hand over the surface of the water, curling his fingers slightly. Sy's fingernails began to glow with pale light, a glow that soon creeped up his fingers to the knuckle. The glow brightened, then flashed and solidified into pointed silver caps.

Fang muttered, "What the. . .?"

The irises of Sy's eyes were completely red now. He dipped his silver-tipped fingers into the water, which flashed briefly. When he brought his hand back out, there was a collective gasp as the water clung to the silvery caps in a weird, wavering sphere.

Can I make an _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ reference? Thank you. It was like waterbending, I guess you could say.

Sy moved his hand so it hung just over the more serious of Iggy's wounds. Almost gently, he touched a single water-covered finger to Iggy's skin.

The water glowed for a second, then shot off Sy's silvered finger and into the bullethole. Then some of the silver stuff on his finger ran liquid and shot into the wound as well, a little of it remaining outside of the injury to shield it like a shiny silver scab.

He did the same to the other hole in Iggy's back, then turned him over and attended to the hole in the front. All while we watched in half-fascination, half-confusion.

Then Sy twitched, hunching over and grabbing his head. Leftover silver melted and dripped over his hand, down his arm and onto the floor. I stepped up behind him in concern, laying my hand on hsi back.

"Sy, you okay?" I asked. He nodded silently and I looked to Iggy--the silver stuff had formed a sun-shaped mark over the bulletholes in his back. "What did you _do_?"

"I, uh. . .made him better," Sy muttered awkwardly. "Used the. . .water to. . .close the wound."

I looked back at Max, who looked stricken and confused. The others looked basically the same, until Iggy groaned softly and stirred, whereupon the confusion was replaced by happiness and relief.

"Iggy! Iggy!"

Our favorite blind pyromaniac rolled over, sitting up and grimacing in pain. He shook his head and opened his own eyes, sightless and a much lighter blue than Sy's. With that uncanny ability of knowing where we all were, Iggy turned his head toward me and asked, "What. . .happened? I remember landing in that parking lot, but then. . ."

"You passed out," Max said shortly, and Iggy turned toward her instead. Casting an uncertain glance at me, she added, "Luckily, one of Spark's friends showed up, so we were able to get out of there without getting captured."

"Friend?"

"Uh, hi," Sy said, tapping Iggy's arm to tell him where he was. "Name's Sy."

"Er. . .hi." Iggy was quiet for a second, then said, "Wasn't I. . .didn't I get. . .well, shot?"

We all kinda looked at each other for a moment or two, until Fang finally said, "Yeah, man. You did."

"But we got the bullet out!" Nudge added quickly. "Like, the one went right through but the other one got stuck in there, and Spark had me use my magnetism to get it out, and just now Sy went all freaky and closed the hole and then you woke up and. . ."

"God, I get shot _and _have to get my ears talked off?" Iggy moaned sarcastically. I laughed and reached over to ruffle his hair.

"Glad to see you're not dead, dude," I said.

"Gee, thanks!" he replied brightly. Iggy then twisted his arm up his back, searching for the bullet wounds. "How long was I even out? I mean, it barely hur--huh?" Iggy's brow furrowed and he ran his hand over the silver scab once again. "Why am I. . .silver?"

"It'll go away eventually," Sy said quietly. "After the normal time it would take to heal. For now it's just. . .I don't know, it's like a band-aid. Don't worry about it."

* * *

The rest of the day passed in uneasy semi-silence, as the bird-kids tried their best to get used to him. Spark, of course, was already his best friend; the others, however, weren't so easily coming in the friendship department.

Max and Fang were constantly watching him, and he felt Angel scan his mind every once in a while. (The scientists had taught him how to recognize it.) He pretended not to notice, allowing them their caution.

He felt Spark's eyes on him a lot as well, but every time he looked at her she looked away. Did she feel guilty about ditching him before? He hoped she didn't; yeah, he'd been mad at first, but after he'd figured out she was safe, he got over it. She was a hard person to stay mad at. If anything, _she _should be mad at _him_--he'd taken a big risk earlier, healing Iggy. It was a thing that happened to all the human-fish hybrids, the silver fingers and red eyes. . .

Once night fell, Spark sat down in the uncomfortable armchair across from his and leaned her elbows on the little table.

"Hey."

Sy blinked out of his semi-trance and looked at her. "Hey."

"Are you gonna tell me what you did earlier or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?"

He dropped his eyes to the table and started to fiddle with a pen. But he felt himself smirk. "This is first time you've asked me about it. I think I deserve a grace period of refusing at least four times before you resort to violence."

"I've asked you twice, actually," she corrected. "Right after you did it and then just now. Two."

"Oh." Sy hesitated, then lowered his voice. "I. . .can't tell you here. I don't. . ."

"Want them to know?" she finished, tilting her head toward the other side of the room, where Max, Fang, and the others were watching TV. He put down the pen and looked at Spark meaningfully. She shrugged casually. "Then we'll wait until they fall asleep. Or make up some excuse to leave. Because one way or another I am _going _to figure out what happened."

"_Fine_, fine. We'll. . .I don't know, drive to the lake, I guess," Sy muttered, resuming his mindless pen-fiddling. "I saw one on my way into town. I need to swim anyway."

"It's only a temporary field trip, Sy," Spark said, rolling her eyes and leaning back in her chair. "I doubt you'll have time to explain _and _swim before Max figures out we've gone AWOL and goes postal."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he replied vaguely. Spark's hand came down over his, pinning the pen to the tabletop and making Sy look up in surprise.

"Whatever it is, quit moping about it," she said seriously, staring him in the eye. "It's kinda pissing me off that you're not being you."

"How do you know I'm not always like this?" he accused.

"Because I know everything." Spark stood up and flicked the side of his head with her finger as she passed. "Now stop being emo and watch TV with the rest of us, dammit."

Sy shook his head, chuckling. But he dragged his chair over near the flock anyway, so as to make Spark happy.

He also resolved to be more careful about his withdrawals into thought.

* * *

sy returns! yay!

the poll on my profile will close soon, so if you haven't voted, then please do so. thank you!


	31. Chapter 31

sorry about the lateness of this chapter. i was a bit busy freaking out about finals. (which is weird, because i don't normally do that.)

the title of this chapter is my little shout-out to the epically awesome TV series _monk_, which ended on december 4, 2009. i'll miss it dearly. . .

ah well. enough of that. thanks to all those of you who reviewed!

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride

* * *

_**31. a gift and a curse**_

"All right," I whispered. "Looks like Sy an' me are headin' out."

Fang shrugged noncommittally. "Whatever. Just be back before Max gets up."

"Yeah, yeah, we got it."

Sy and I had waited until everyone else had fallen asleep; then I'd told Fang that Sy had issues that he could only talk to me about (issues. . .what a ridiculous word. . .understatement for problems, really) and that we were going to clear out for a while. Surprisingly, he'd been cool with it. As opposed to what Max's reaction could've been. Like, beating the truth out of poor lil' Sy for everyone to hear about what was obviously a touchy subject. (Maybe. Or perhaps she'd've been cool like Fang about it. Truth is, I still don't know these guys as well as, oh, say, my human friends in Colorado. Hm. . .I missed them a little. . .)

So yeah. My silver-headed friend and I snuck from the hotel room, and, rather than risk waking everybody with the familiar sputtering of the Explorer's engine, we traveled to the lake by other means. For me, that meant by wing, and for Sy, by foot. At first I'd been uneasy about his walking there, but then he just smirked at me and took off running, and _man! _Sy's one fast little white boy. Like, wicked fast. Literally a silver blur fast. Faster than the Flash fast. (Okay. Maybe not _that _fast. Hell, I don't even know how fast the Flash is. . .)

Anyways.

I landed in the top of a tree, folding my wings and glancing around the perimeter of the lake. A few cabins dotted its shores here and there, but there weren't any lights or moving shadows, which meant Sy and I would be pretty much alone. There were lots of short docks sticking out into the water near the houses, and tied to nearly every one of them there were boats of the speedboat type. I think. I don't know boats.

I took a breath, filling my lungs with crisp, clean air. The chill given off by the water sent a little shiver through my body, but the unexpected freshness (as in no fishy smells, no smoky pollution, and no car exhaust) almost reminded me of home, at the base of the Rockies. Where I'd ditch homework and fly to Pikes Peak and circle its snowy cap and sometimes play in the snow like a little kid. . .Gah! What was it with me all of a sudden? I must be more homesick than I thought.

"Spark!"

"Crap!" I jumped and nearly fell from the tree as Sy whispered my name (nickname, _nickname!_ My name's Nicole. Nicole!) up to me. I heard his soft laughter as I dropped down to the ground beside him, straightening up to half-glare at him.

"Next time you do something like that, I'll have to get you back," I threatened. "And we'll just see who's laughing then."

"Yeah, whatever," Sy replied flippantly, half-smiling at me. With a start I realized he wasn't even breathing hard from running all the way here. Actually, he looked even better than when we'd been at the hotel. He wasn't all melancholy and quiet and sad and his hair was all endearingly messed up from the wind and his eyes had regained that cute sparkle and. . .and I did not just call his eyes cute. I mean, yes, Sy was good-looking, and yes, I was straight, but please. He's my friend. And I, at least, don't call my friends cute. Not even the guys. Unless it's in a joking manner.

"So, uh, are you gonna tell me whatever it was we had to come here to talk about?" I asked, banishing my internal babble. Along with it went Sy's half-smile. Ah well. Might as well get the bad stuff out of the way and get back to the hotel. It was chilly out here.

"I. . .guess," Sy sighed. He tilted his head toward the lake. "Can we walk? I don't know if I can sit still while I'm explaining it."

"Uh, sure, I guess," I replied, rubbing my arms to still my shiver. "Just as long as you tell me."

"I am. I'm telling you right now," he said quickly as we began our walk. I looked up at him (surprisingly, he was taller than me--not many guys can claim that) and saw a hint of some internal battle flickering through his eyes. Just what had happened to him when he healed Iggy?

"Okay. Um, my mothe--um, well, the scientists knew they were playing with fire when making the fish hybrids. They've tried thousands of times to create 'mermaids,' but me and, um, Ariel were the first ones to survive past a week."

"Ariel's the chick, right? The first successful fish-person?" I asked, remembering him explaining it to me the night we'd escaped. That'd been one of the weirdest nights of my life. Not only had I trashed four bedrooms of people I hate, I also aided in the stealing of a car (or two, depending how you looked at it) and stayed up nearly the entire night on a sugar-rush.

"Uh-huh," Sy said, bringing me back to the here-and-now. As he continued to talk, I observed a subtle change in him--his shoulders started to hunch a little, and his eyes were forcibly fixed on the ground in front of him, and his hands hid in the pockets of his jeans. Did he feel guilty or something? Why would he? "They--the scientists--actually realized the more fish DNA they put into a kid, the faster our traits and powers would appear and develop. And somewhere along the line, they'd. . .well, they'd change."

I almost asked how, but then decided to just let him tell it. Some things are better to get out all in one go.

"It started with what I did back at the hotel, with Iggy--the ability to heal using saltwater. Then it progressed to control over water--_all _water--and then it. . .then it hit their personalities."

His voice was beginning to falter, and I realized we were getting to some difficult information now. Almost abruptly, Sy turned to the left, and I was completely thrown off for a second. We'd traveled almost a quarter of the way around the lake, and Sy had just turned down an empty dock that led out over the water. I blinked and had to jog a little to catch up to him.

"What d'you mean, it hit their personalities?" I asked.

"It was. . .weird. They became obsessed with the water. Practically living in the lake twenty-four/seven. And they started hurting other kids just so they could heal them. When they were forced to stop that, they'd do stuff to themselves. That's about when. . .when their eyes turned completely red. And stayed red."

"What did _you _feel like?" I inquired curiously, coming to a stop. It was the end of the dock, and though Sy knew I was looking at him, he was staring into the water, not meeting my eyes. I lightly pushed his shoulder. "Come on, Fish Boy, spill. What was it like?"

"Weird," he said shortly. "Detached. Almost. . .high."

I couldn't hold back a snort. "Like you have something to compare that to?"

"Yeah." I stopped laughing and stared at him, and Sy finally looked back at me, quickly adding, "But not on purpose! They made us. Locked us in a room and piped smoke through the vents. Just to see what would happen." His tone was quite bitter toward the end of that. He dropped his eyes and kicked a stray pebble into the water with a tiny _plop_. "Half of us went paranoid and schizo, huddled in the corners and screaming at voices that didn't exist. Others just passed out. One kid had no reaction at all, and the rest of us went all loopy and stupid."

"Define stupid."

"Jumping off the chairs and tables 'cuz we thought we could fly. Thinking we were going blind 'cuz the room got all blurry. Confusing names of people who looked totally different. I don't remember a lot of it, actually."

"So, I'm assuming you were in the 'loopy and stupid' category," I said. Sy nodded, then sighed and sat down on the edge of the dock, kicking his feet at the surface of the lake. I watched his shoes take on a silver sheen, the makings of a fin creeping up the back of his calves. I sat down beside him, keeping my own feet on the dock.

"Yeah. Anyway, that's kinda what it felt like. I'm. . .Because I healed Iggy, I'm starting to change into that red-eyed monster the rest of them turned into."

I was quiet for a second, trying to process, when I asked, "Just how many of you guys are there?"

Great. Just great. Instead of telling him he's not a monster like a _normal _person would, I ask how many others there are like him. Perfect. I'm an awesome friend, aren't I?

Sy seemed to've expected it, though. "Um. . .fifteen, twenty," he guessed. "Ariel and I are oldest, but only by a year or so. She's older than me, too, by a couple weeks."

"Mm-hm," I said absently, looking to the water. "So, you're, uh, changing. Why is it such a bad thing? If you can control water and heal people and stuff?"

Sy's fingers clenched around the edge of the dock. "You must not've heard me. I'm going to start wanting to always be around water. I'm going to want to hurt anybody around me just so I can heal them again. I'm. . .I'm not going to care about anything anymore."

"And you don't want anybody else to know that," I said, suddenly realizing, "because you're afraid they won't trust you." By _they_ I meant _Max and Fang and the flock_, and Sy knew that. He nodded miserably.

"I don't wanna change into that," Sy whispered. "I don't want to change, period. I'm fine the way I am."

On impulse, I leaned over and kissed Sy on the cheek. "It'll be okay, Sy. Nothin' bad's gonna happen. I promise."

He looked at me, eyes a tiny bit wide and face tinged just the slightest shade of red. I expected him to come back with something like "_You're_ promising _me _nothing bad's gonna happen? It's my body!" But instead, he went and did something that caught me totally by surprise.

He leaned in and kissed me, too. Only he got me on the lips.

Many times, so it would seem, Max has described a kiss as nice, and having an odd effect of shorting out pretty much all coherent thought. I can verify that her statements are true.

I don't know how long it lasted--a few seconds, a few years, what's the diff?--but finally, Sy pulled away from me. My eyes (which had closed at some point) popped open, and I saw Sy still had his eyelids closed. Letting out a breath, he lay down flat on the dock, folding his arms across his eyes. "Okay. I'll. . .try to stop thinking about it."

At first I couldn't say anything (one, because I couldn't remember what he was talking about, and two, because my lips were all tingly and I didn't trust myself to speak clearly). I just stared, trying my best to re-grasp the conversation. When he looked up at me questioningly, I blinked and shook my head. "Uh, good." I smiled. "Because _I'm _the one who does the thinking around here." Sy scoffed and covered his eyes again, but I saw his lips lift in a smile anyway.

We stayed like that, just sitting in peaceful silence on the edge of the dock for a while. Then Sy said, "Don't you dare ditch me again."

I blinked, having zoned out (on a train of thought I think you can guess at. . .hint, it involved a word starting with "k") during the quiet, and turned to look at him. He was in the same position as before, but he lifted his hands off his eyes momentarily so I could see him giving me a hard look. "Don't ditch me again," he repeated. "Last time I was barely asleep when you ditched me."

"Oh, right," I said, laughing a little. "Sorry, but I had to. . ."

"It's not funny. You really pissed me off doing that." Sy let his crossed hands fall over his eyes again. "Don't do it again."

My eye twitched. I'm a rebellious, fickle, tempermental little child; as you've probably deducted from all my head-butting with Max, I don't do well with orders from certain types of people. I just can't take it.

And Sy was definitely the wrong type of person to give me an order.

"I ditched you because I had to," I said coldly, fingers clenching around the edge of the dock. "Max and the others would've gone charging off after me and gotten themselves captured, and our escape would've meant nothing!"

Sy's hands tensed and he slowly sat up, watching me with the edge of a red glare in his eye. Or was it just red? "Okay. So, rather than just leave them to screw themselves over, it was fine to leave me on my own so you could go stop them?"

"Uh, yeah," I snapped. "I wasn't about to let them take my place in there! They're my _friends_! And besides, had you left me, you would've been by yourself anyway!"

"Yeah, left you there to _die_," Sy said angrily. "One way or another, Con and Blaze _would _have killed you, despite any orders or consequences. If it wasn't for me, you'd probably be dead!"

"What, you think I'm that easy to kill?" I sneered.

In one terrifying second, the irises of Sy's eyes turned completely red, like two glowing rubies. Then, quicker than I could react, he slammed silver-capped fingers into my neck and I slid and fell hard to the dock. Sy had me pinned with one hand, applying a fair amount of pressure to my throat.

"Yes, actually," Sy hissed, smirking coldly. "I think you _are_ that easy to kill."

"L-let me. . .go!" I gasped, struggling for breath. I could feel tiny serrated edges of the silver stuff on his fingers digging into my skin, and I couldn't help but have a not-so-pleasant flashback to when Blaze had tried to strangle me. Like then, I tried to pry his hand away with both of mine. But he was stronger than me. A lot stronger.

The edges of my vision started to go gray and blurry. I kicked my legs fruitlessly, making loud _thunk_s on the planks of wood that made up the dock. But it was how late again? Nobody was going to hear me.

"Gck. . .S. . .ck. . .S-Sy. . .st. . .stop!" I managed to choke out.

Sy's eyelids twitched and I watched as the red vanished, shooting away into his pupils and revealing the intense sapphire-blue I was so accustomed to. He blinked a few times, and then a horrible look of guilt and shock and horror crossed Sy's face. He snatched his hand from my throat, silver dripping from his fingertips, unable to stop staring as he backed away. My own hand flew to my neck as I sat up, gasping for breath.

"I. . .I. . ." was all Sy could stutter out. I stared up at him, wide-eyed and afraid, pleading with my eyes for an explanation. He backed up to the very edge of the dock, shaking his head like he didn't know what had happened.

"Sy. . .?" I croaked.

"I. . ." He hesitated for just a second. Then, with that guilty/shocked/terrified look on his face, he twisted around and dove into the lake.

I cringed as droplets of water sprinkled over me, then scrambled to the edge of the dock. "Sy!" I cried hoarsely, peering into the water. I tried to see past the ripples of the splash, but just couldn't. By the time they'd settled, he'd be long gone.

"Sy. . ." I whispered. I sat back on the dock, blood and silver slowly sliding down my neck, eyes stinging with. . .with. . .tears?

I closed my eyes and pressed my palms hard against them, as if I could press the image of Sy's blood-red, ruby-like eyes out of my mind. Fat chance.

I remained like that, shuddering and gasping and trying not to cry, for a long, long time.

* * *

ever-present intensity. how tragic. . .


	32. Chapter 32

sorry for the delay. . .i, uh. . .had writer's block?

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride

* * *

_**32. CHIcken in the CAr and the car won't GO. . .**_

"Where the heck were _you_?"

"Huh?" I barely registered the six sets of eyes focused on me as I walked back into the hotel room a little after sunrise. I blinked and took a closer look--the little kids were all bleary-eyed and sleepy, Max looked half worried, half angry, and Fang and Iggy just looked mildly annoyed.

"Where. The. Heck. Were. You?" Max repeated, crossing her arms and glaring at me. "And where's the other kid? Sy?"

_Sy_. A flash of the red-eyed Project Poseidon crossed my mind, but I shut it down hard and fast, in case Angel was listening in on my thoughts. I shook my head and let the door close behind me.

"He. . .went for a swim. I went to find out what happened when he healed Iggy and then left him in the lake for a while. If he's not back by nightfall, we can leave without him." My voice was flat and a little forced, and I knew that everyone could tell. But thankfully, nobody questioned further as I crossed the room and sank into one of the crappy armchairs over by the table in the corner. I took a deep breath (my neck twinging in pain as I did so) and folded my arms across the tabletop, dropping my head down and closing my eyes.

I was wiped. Not a feeling I'd experienced too much back home with my family, but definitely a feeling I was becoming used to.

There was a short silence, and I hazarded a guess that Max and Fang were giving each other one of those weird "we're thinking the same thing" looks. Nudge, on the other hand, yawned and started up her normal chatter.

"So Sy can swim?" she asked. "I guess that makes sense, 'cuz he's part fish an' all, but does he have gills, like Angel and Max and Fang and you? Or does he just hold his breath? How far down can he g--"

"Nudge, go back to sleep," Iggy said irritably. There was a _foomp_ and I realized he must've fallen back onto the bed. "Don't know about you guys, but I'm still tired. So _shhhh_."

"Yeah, Nudge, let's go back to sleep," Angel said agreeably. "Besides, Sy turns into a mermaid thing when he goes in the water."

"Really?! That's so cool!" Nudge exclaimed, suddenly wide awake. "But wouldn't you call it mer_man_, 'cuz he's a boy? What's he look like when he's like that? Spark?"

"Huh?" I said, jerking out of my stupor. I raised my head and turned to look at Nudge, who was all bright and anxious. "Oh. He, um, grows silver scales and stuff, and his legs turn into a giant fish tail, and he's got fins on his back and sides. And he has gills. That's pretty much it."

"Oh," Nudge said, looking slightly disappointed. She opened her mouth to speak again, but Max gave her a look and she decided against it. She forced a yawn and said, "Well, I'm goin' back to bed. Night."

I glanced at Max and saw in her face that she wanted to know more. But I pretended like I couldn't understand her meaningful look and rested my head back down on the table.

She didn't let me get away with that for too long. It was oh, I don't know, about a minute and a half before she sat down across from me and demanded an explanation.

"It's an ability," I said vaguely. "Something that happens to all the fish hybrids. Just drop it."

Max hesitated, obviously torn between letting me rest (because God knew I needed it) and finding out what she wanted to know. "Then, uh, why'd you guys leave?"

"No offense, but he's just not that comfortable around you guys," I replied. "He's better one-on-one with somebody he knows."

She waited, expecting more, but when she realized I wasn't going to say anything else, she shrugged. "Whatever. Try and get some rest today, all right? We're leaving tomorrow."

"Where're we goin'?" I asked.

". . .I'm not sure yet. Just sleep."

" 'Kay," I mumbled, leaning back in my chair. I closed my eyes and tried to drift off to sleep.

* * *

_Just get it together already! You can't hide in here forever! The longer you stay away, the more pissed she'll get at you! Just get over yourself and go back!_

_. . .God I'm a retard._

Sy finally broke the surface of the lake, gasping as his gills automatically closed. Then he looked around--it was still early in the day, so there was only one boat out on the lake, and it was way north of him anyway. He found the nearest dock and started swimming toward it.

Spark was gone, obviously. He didn't blame her. He'd've run too if his best friend had tried to kill him.

Best friend. Sy frowned at the thought. Spark was more than that--she was his _only _friend. Sure, there'd been the other fish hybrids back in Salt Lake, but the whitecoats had done their best to be sure none of them had ever gotten too close.

And. . .maybe there was a chance Spark was more than his friend. Because, well, they'd kissed. And if you asked him, it'd been great. But then he'd tried to kill her. Which wasn't so great.

Sy reached the dock and pulled himself up onto it, the silvery essence of his fish traits disappearing as he left the water. It was funny, but no matter what kind of clothes he went into the water with, they never got wet. So all he had to do was shake out his hair as he headed for shore, still trying to muddle through his thoughts.

_I'll just talk to her_, he thought, reaching the end of the dock. He took a breath and started to run--another trait of nearly all the fish hybrids was speed, in both running and swimming._ Maybe by then I'll figure out what the hell was going on._

If she didn't explode at him for almost killing her, that is.

* * *

I jerked out of a fitful sleep as Iggy touched my shoulder.

"What, what?" I asked, my eyes popping open and darting around the room. With a jolt I realized Sy had returned, and was over in a corner playing cards with Angel and Nudge. I looked away before he could sense my eyes upon him. Too many mixed emotions about him right now. Mental note to deal with it later.

"Family meeting," Iggy said sarcastically. "Max wanted to talk to all of us."

"Ah." I rubbed my eyes sleepily and twisted around in the chair, cracking my back. I saw Iggy wince, like he had the very first night I'd met the flock, before going to sit down on the edge of a bed.

Max crossed the room and turned off the TV before turning to the rest of us. Sy, Angel, and Nudge laid down their cards and the Gasman stopped fiddling with whatever he'd been working on so all eyes were on Max.

"All right, guys," she said. "We can't stay here too long, so I think we should decide on where we're headed so we can leave as soon as possible. Like, tomorrow morning."

"Aren't we going to Michigan?" Angel asked. "To find Gazzy and mine's mom and dad?" (I'm not even going to _think _about how that would be phrased differently or more correctly.)

"Actually, Angel, I don't think we should go find our parents just yet," Max said. "I mean, we're still supposed to save the world, right? I'm not sure we've done that yet."

"Well, if we're not going to find our parents, then where _are _we going?" the Gasman asked, trying not to sound too disappointed. I mean, the kid's nine, and he was just told he can't go find the parents he's been searching for his entire life. You'd be sad too.

"I've been thinking about that." Then, watching me for any reaction I may or may not have given, Max said, "I think we need to go to Chicago."

All right. She got me with that one. My eyes--which had been drifting about in disinterest around the room--snapped around to her and I started to sputter. "What. . .what're you. . .uh. . .what. . .neh?" Translation: _what the hell are you thinking?!??!_

"That Con guy said they had orders to bring you to Chicago," she began.

"Doesn't that mean we should stay _away_ from there, then?" I said, apparently missing her point.

Max's eyes went hard with that annoyingly determined look, the look she usually gave me when signaling I should just cut the crap and get on with my life. "No. We have to check it out. Why do they want you there? The little kid--Shadow, or whatever--called it your home."

Oh. She thought I didn't know why they wanted me there. "It. . .is my home," I reluctantly admitted. Ignoring wide-eyed, inquisitive looks, I explained, "I mean that in the way that I was. . ._created_ there. Where I spent most of the first five years of my life. . .with Con and Blaze and Swift."

"Wait a second, you _lived _with them?" Iggy said disbelievingly, sightless eyes swinging around to stare at a spot three inches over my right shoulder.

"They were more than that," Angel piped up. I realized she'd either read my mind already or was in the process of doing it right that second. Before I could stop her, she said, "They were your family. Right, Spark?"

I cringed internally at the alarmed looks I received, then scratched the back of my neck nervously. With a slight crack to my voice, I said lamely, "I. . .well, yeah. But it's not like I knew that when they kidnapped me. Shadow had to make me remember."

"Let's not worry about that right now," Sy said suddenly. I was about to send him a grateful look, then remembered how I was all confuzzled about him and averted my eyes. "Point is, they want Spark back. Our plan should be not letting that happen. So I guess I'm wondering why would we make it all the easier for them to foil our so perfectly conceived notion."

The Gasman snickered and Max rolled her eyes. "The files they had on _us _were pretty detailed, but Spark's wasn't. They might have more on her there at wherever it's called."

"The Factory," Sy supplied.

"Yeah, that."

I raised my hand. "Question. Since when was my file non-informative?"

Max gave me a look and said, "I read your file while you were asleep."

"You _what_?"

"Compared to mine and Fang's and the rest of ours, it wasn't as detailed, probably because Con and them already know a lot about you."

"You're. . .you're lying," I said childishly, searching around for my backpack. I found it and pulled out the laptop, automatically keying in the passwords (which were mine and the anti-flock's last names, if you never picked up on that) and opening my file, then Max's. Hers was easily twice as long as mine.

"But. . .but. . .th-this told me who my parents were, and when I'm supposed to die, and my powers. . ." I trailed off as I realized it only had in the powers I already knew I had, the powers that were obvious to the whitecoats and other peoples--as opposed to all the powers the others knew they were going to get (by the time he's eighteen, Iggy'll be able to see the things he touches--he can't wait). Plus, my little "personal traits" box was completely empty, whereas Max's had documented her looks, her faults, her strengths, what clothes she was most likely to wear (so as to be able to recognize her in a crowd), her favorite flavor of ice cream (okay, that one's a lie), and even a little clicky box that had a recording of her voice.

"Sorry, Spark," Max said, "but we have to go. I just have a feeling we need to."

And unfortunately, Max's feelings were usually the ones that were listened to around here.

* * *

Okay. So, by eleven-forty-five the next night, the eight of us (and Total, so technically nine) were crammed into the blue Explorer Sy and I had conned from that silly Hispanic kid--wonder how he's likin' his Ferrari?--and pulled over on the side of a deserted back road somewhere in Iowa. Seven of us nine were fast asleep; Sy and I were the only ones still up. He was in the driver's seat, and I was in the back-back with Fang and Nudge, because frankly, I'd been avoiding him.

Very frequently I felt his eyes on me through the rearview mirror--it was all I could do to not just slide down out of sight and pretend to sleep. We still had to talk about That Night, and now was as good a time as any, but. . .I just couldn't bring it up. What was I going to do about him? I mean, I. . .I guess I liked him (yes, like _that_, but I swear to God if you give me any crap about it I will stab you with a pen), but he'd tried to kill me, for crying out loud!

"Not tired?" Sy finally whispered.

I shut my eyes tight. _Just don't flip out. You'll wake the others. Take a breath, and here we go. . ._ "Uh, not really. Lot on my mind."

"Ah."

I hated this awkward silence, and not just because of all the gay babies that were being born because of it (poor lil' guys. . .). It was because ever since Max had dropped the bomb about our heading for Chicago, we'd been tense and uneasy around each other, and I think the others were starting to notice. I mean, first we were best friends, but now it was like we were two people who had suddenly met up at a high school reunion and had been hitting it off until we remembered that we had never liked each other. (That happened to my dad once. He said he'd never been more uncomfortable in his life.)

There was a soft rustling of cloth and I guessed Sy was turning in his seat. "Spark, we really need to talk."

"No shit," I muttered under my breath. But all he heard was, "About what, Sy? The weather? How tall Angel's getting? The color of Iggy's wings?"*

"No. About. . .about the other night."

Great.

With a sigh, I twisted around as far as I could without waking Total, who was snoozing away in my lap. "And? What's there to say? You tried to kill me."

"I didn't mean to," he said quickly. In the passenger seat, Iggy twitched, so he lowered his voice. "I swear, I have no idea what came over me, I. . ."

"Shh! I don't know why you did it either, but frankly, you scared the crap outta me. Do you know how long I sat on that dock like a pathetic little kid after you swam away?"

Sy winced guiltily. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I did. And I only ran because I didn't know what to think. I ran so I _could _think."

"It's not good to do that! It makes the other party feel like you abandoned them or something!"

"I'm _sorry_! It's not like I can just walk down the hall and ask. . .well, my _mom_ what the hell's going on! After this happened to the others, they were taken away! None of them ever told us what was going on!"

"Shut _up_!" I hissed, crossing my finger over my neck. Then I pointed down at where Angel was sleeping, resting against Max. Sy's eyes dropped to the mind-reader, who was frowning slightly in her sleep. I knew from experience that she could pick up on thoughts in the form of dreams, and the others were bound to wake up if we kept talking. Sy nodded, then carefully opened his door.

Oh. So he wanted to take it outside, where I could _really _yell at him. Fine with me.

With a glance at Fang and Nudge, I lifted Total off my lap and set him down gently; he barely twitched. I then slid over to the back door of the car. . .whereupon I realized that 1996 Explorers have no inside latch on their trunks.

Sy seemingly knew this already--as quietly as possible, he opened the door, just enough for me to slide out of the car. He pushed it shut and then we moved a fair distance from the car, far enough away so nobody would wake up yet still close enough for us to keep an eye on it.

"Now what was it you wanted to say?" I asked Sy, none too pleasant about it. I'm generally a go-with-the-flow, goofy, carefree kinda person, and all day I'd been worrying and tensing and getting all hyperactive from the. . ._incident _last night. I don't do well with emotions like that. They piss me off. Which explains my cross tone with Sy.

I flinched a bit and took a step back as his eyes flashed red, my guard suddenly rising and steeling itself with various impassible things, such as ninjas, snipers, Simon Cowell clones, raccoons with holy handgrenades, baby-proof latches, and one of Gazzy's mushroom-cloud fart things. (Sadly, I have experienced one of those. There are really no words bad enough to describe it.)

Sy blinked, then he stepped back as well. He rubbed his eyes furiously and the red disappeared. Then he started talking really fast, like he wanted to say what he wanted to say all in one go without any interruptions.

"I don't know what came over me! Just now _or _the other night! I think it was a side effect of the thing that happened to the rest of them, with the eyes and the silver hands and I _swear_ I didn't mean to almost kill you, it was just something about the way you said you weren't that easy to kill, and whatever it was that controls that part of me just snapped and I just reacted, I swear to God I wasn't thinking straight, I. . ."

"Sy, shut _up_!" I interrupted, waving my hand in the air to cut him off. His voice had started to rise in volume (cracking in a very endearing way once or twice), so I had to stop his babbling before he woke up the flock. I sent a look back at the car, but there were no movements.

I turned to look back at Sy. "If you want to run off spewing word vomit like that, do it _quietly_. I don't know if you've met Iggy, but he's got ears like a freaking bat. So be. _Quiet_."

Sy blinked at me in confusion. "Word vomit?"

"Have you not seen _Mean Girls_?"

"I can proudly say I haven't."

"Oh. Well you should. It's really funny."

"I'll attempt to see it sometime before I die, then."

"Wow, you're cool," I said, rolling my eyes at his sardonic tone. Then I stopped. What was I doing? This was supposed to be a serious conversation about Sy's attempt on my life! (Not to mention the kiss!) And here we were going back and forth with dialogue that could be picked out of a _normal_ couple's conversation. Wait, since when did I start including myself with Sy in the term of "couple"? Something in the last nine days must've screwed up my mental processing. . .or maybe something in just the last forty-eight hours.

Sy seemed to've noticed the change, too. He tried to smile. "See? The other night was just. . .weird. Can't we just go back to normal?"

"What? No, we can't go back to normal!" I exclaimed. As if we even knew what normal was! "That night wasn't _weird_, you tried to _kill _me. I saw it in your eyes, you were serious!"

"My _red _eyes, though," Sy reminded me quickly, moving closer to me. "I don't think I'm the same person when my eyes are red. None of the others were. It was like they went MPD all of a sudden."

"It's not Multiple Personality Disorder anymore," I corrected automatically. Call it the nerd in me, or the OCD technicality freak. "It's Dissociative Identity Disorder."

"Does it matter? Spark, I. . ."

"No! Just shut up for like two seconds!" I let out a frustrated breath and rubbed my temples, trying to make sense of my increasingly random thoughts. "First you went all emo and self-pitying on me, then you kissed me, then you tried to kill me. Then you ran away--or swam away, I guess--and tried to come back like nothing happened. You are seriously weirding me out, Sy!"

"I. . .You kissed me first!" he blurted.

Oh, sure, bypass all the important stuff and jump right on the least important part of that sentence. "I kissed you on the cheek, it doesn't count."

"Well, it's not like you stopped me!"

"In what? The kissing or the killing?" I asked, steering the conversation right back to my near-death experience. "Because if I recall, I _did _try to escape the latter."

"I. . ._I_ wasn't trying to kill you. It was. . .that other side of me. The red-eyed side." Sy sighed. "I. . .I don't know _what _I was doing."

"If you don't know what you were doing, how can you be sure it won't happen again?" I asked softly.

"I don't _know_," he said miserably. "I can only do my best to stay the way I am, I guess. Try to get to know when that other side's trying to gain control."

"Don't. . .ever let him," I mumbled, looking at the ground. My eyes were drawn to Sy's shoes, and on a completely unrelated subject I wondered how big his feet were. I mean, his shoes were massive compared to mine, and I have pretty good-sized feet for a girl.

Sy's shoes stepped even closer and one of his hands took hold of mine. I looked up at him.

"I can't guarantee that it won't happen again," he told me quietly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of my face. I froze momentarily, then forced myself to relax as the hand dropped. "But I _can _guarantee that I'll do my best to stop it when I feel it coming, because I never want to hurt you again."

So, to sum up: Sy didn't know what happened, and he was sorry. _I_ didn't know what happened, but I could forgive him. Neither of us were happy about it, and we were both ready to not think about it too much.

Funny that it took two days to get pretty much nowhere.

I sighed, lightly squeezing Sy's hand. "That's the best I'm gonna get out of you, isn't it?"

He half-smiled. " 'Fraid so."

Unlike Max, I don't feel the incredible urge to freak out when a guy kisses me. So when Sy leaned down to touch his lips to mine, I didn't stop him. And maybe I kissed back a little.

But, like Max, I have no sense of time when a guy kisses me. So it could've been just a few seconds or as long as five minutes before I gently pulled away and idiotically whispered, "We should probably go back to the car."

Sy straightened up and took a breath. "Okay. Don't want them waking up to find us gone, huh?"

I shook my head as we slowly started back for the car. "They'd look for us."

"Maybe catch us," he added, lacing his fingers through mine.

"And then give us crap about it for the rest of our lives."

"Yeah. However long that'll be."

I dimly remembered what my file had said on that particular matter and smiled faintly. "Oh, it'll be a long time. Trust me."

We'd just about reached the back of the Explorer, so Sy let go of my hand. Immediately I punched him in the arm. He staggered to the side, grabbing the place of impact.

"Hey, what was that for?!"

"For trying to kill me, you dork," I replied. Then I cracked the door on the back of the car and slid back inside, pulling it shut as softly as I could. I stuck my tongue out at Sy as he passed my window to get to the driver's seat, and he rolled his eyes at me, smirking.

Teenage emotions are great, aren't they?

* * *

*why has james patterson never mentioned that? those of you who sent in OCs know that i personally desire to know the color of people's wings, so it irks me that i don't know the color of iggy's (or gazzy's, for that matter). . .

so. didja like this chapter? i tried not to ruin the nice moments. . .but as you can see, it was difficult to restrain the urge for violence toward the end. . .either way, it was nice and long to make up for my recent sporadic-ness in updating.

happy holidays!


	33. Chapter 33

i think for once i'll answer some reviews. . .

Surreptitiously Anonymous: yes. i could definitely make them more bipolar (haha). and when i read your review, i _did _drop everything and pretty much wrote this entire chapter in one sitting. this is for you!

Rainie16: thank you for calling my story awesome.

BookWorm8225: thank you, but swift isn't really mine. he's the lovely character i borrowed from FireHawk43. and yes, when we did sample physics problems on the board last semester, my teacher would find a way to kill a penguin half the time. oh, and the cuss word thing is just me. the f-bomb's still just a little out there for me.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride

* * *

_**33. . . .that's how you spell CHICAGO***_

"Hm." I leaned over the steering wheel, looking up through the windshield at the buildings jabbing holes in the sky. I cracked my window and inhaled deeply, fighting back the urge to cough at all the car exhaust and other such pollution. "We sure got _here _faster than I thought we would."

"Where are we going, anyway?" Nudge asked from the passenger seat. After five straight hours of driving, I'd forced Sy to pull over so we could switch up the seating arrangements, which involved him in the back-back and me at the wheel. One reason for this change was so Sy didn't get all crabby from the monotonous motions of driving--I can vividly recall all of my family's road trips, and my dad wasn't much of a happy camper when we reached our destination after 6+ hours. Another reason was so he wouldn't. . .well, _distract _me as _I_ tried to drive.

"We need to find this Factory where Spark was created," Max called from the back-back. "They'll know stuff about her and maybe something about our saving-the-world business."

I briefly wondered where the hell she'd pulled _that_ from--the saving the world stuff--before I turned off the main road and into the parking lot of a hot dog joint I remembered well from past summers in my favorite city. Ah, Portillo's. . .

Anyway, I parked the car (just barely in the faded lines of my space) and switched off the ignition, twisting in my seat to look back at the flock and Sy. I looked at Max.

"Finding the Factory's gonna take longer than you think," I said bluntly. "I don't know the full name of it, and even if we _do _find it, we'll have to figure out how to break in, dodge the anti-flock, and find whatever it is you want to know all without getting captured and or killed."

"She's right, Max," Nudge said, glancing sidelong at me. "I mean, remember in New York? When we couldn't find the Institute for, like, the longest time 'cuz we didn't know the name of it or where it was or why there was a Voice in your head. This sounds like it's gonna be harder than that, because we've got to look out for Con and them and they have guns and they're pretty scary. At least I think they are, I don't know about you guys bu--_mmph_!"

I'd cut her off by placing my hand over her mouth. "Plus, we'll need to figure out where we can hide out and meet up in case we get separated or something."

"What makes you think we'll get separated?" the Gasman asked. I shrugged.

"Chicago's a pretty dangerous place in some areas," I told him. "And we have no idea how connected the people at the Factory are."

"You're actually right this time," Max said agreeably. I wanted to say "_this _time?" but held it in. "Know any good places we can meet up in case things take a turn for the worse?"

"A couple," I said slowly. "But to get to any of them, I'll have to call a friend or three."

"You have friends here?" Fang asked.

"Yes. Shocking, isn't it?" I said absently, letting my eyes drift as I started to think. The last time I'd had contact with Cody and Beck had been the day before I'd met Max, and it'd been even longer since I saw Taj. Almost two weeks ago now.

Was it only two weeks? It felt like so much longer. . .

"Spark. Hello?"

"Huh?" I blinked stupidly and looked at Sy, who was watching me in semi-concern.

"I said, who are your friends?"

"Oh. Well, uh, they're not really friends," I explained. "They're my cousins, Cody and Beck. They can help us get in contact with Taj."

"Who?" Iggy said, sounding like he was confused yet on the verge of snickering at Taj's name at the same time.

"Mutual friend," I said vaguely. "He can get us someplace safe to stay."

"Can we trust him?" Max asked, eyes narrow.

"With our lives," I said honestly. "Won't rat us out to anybody."

"How can you be so sure?" the Gasman inquired.

I half-smirked. "Just trust me on that. It's a story for another day."

And oh, was it a story. Starring me, my cousins Cody and Beck, a black boy named Jacob Smith, and the leader of the Black Knights** street gang, Gabriel "Taj" Macklay himself. . .

* * *

We spent the day wandering the city, vainly trying to find out the actual name of the Factory and its location--it was only after three libraries and two phonebooks that I remembered what it was. Turns out, it wasn't a "Factory" at all; its name was Heavenly Manufacturing Incorporated. Once we figured _that _out, it was just one Google search away to figure out its "official" purpose: A rather obscure branch of the gihugic Itexicon monarchy, HMI fronted some weird toy company (I am not kidding--they made _toys_) somewhere in the heart of the city.

By the time we'd come across this memory-jogging information (memory-jogging for _me_, at least; I kept getting weird flashbacks to my times spent there), the streetlamps had already been on for an hour or so. Max decided to call it a day and asked me how we were going to find my cousins.

Unlike everything else in my newly-complicated life, finding Code and Beckers was insanely easy--all I had to do was navigate through the alleys until we found their backyard.

I left the flock and Sy at the end of the alley (we'd temporarily left the car in some parking lot. . .traffic had been slowing us down), just out of reach of the streetlamp's glow. I then ran through the fenced-in backyards of the close-together houses, skidding to a stop somewhere halfway down the line. I barely glanced at the house itself before knowing it was the home of my Uncle Mike, Auntie Lorrie, and cousins Cody and Beck.

_This is it._ I beelined for the loose board somewhere towards the darkest corner of the yard, which the Cody, Beck, my sister Kenny, sometimes my brother Jeremy and I had used countless times to sneak away to reunite with old friends and such whenever we (being me and my family) had stayed at my dad's brother's house.

I pried the board in the fence loose, and then did the same for the one next to it. Then I stuck my head through the fence and scanned the backyard, which was in the summer-to-fall change. In other words, beginning to thin out and die. A broken swing set (the story behind its brokenness being _quite _comical) was bolted into the ground just a few feet in front of my hole in the fence.

_There_. Lounging lazily on the bottom few steps on the wooden staircase leading up to the deck were twin boys, bleach-blond and wearing dark jeans and black t-shirts. The one sitting on the third step up was Cody James, elder twin by two-and-a-half minutes. Cross-legged on the concrete square of a landing was Beck Robert, younger twin by that same one hundred and fifty seconds.

But if we discount the minuscule difference, the twins were exactly sixteen years, four months, and twenty-nine days old.

How do I know this?

a) I have a number disorder and just know random things like that. (Example: a ninety-year-old person will live for 2,838,240,000 seconds total.)

b) I'm _that_ cool.

c) _I'm _exactly _fifteen _years, four months, and twenty-nine days old.

. . .If you chose options a or b, you're a few fries short of a Happy Meal. The answer is c. Cody, Beck and I all share the same birthday--one of the many reasons why we were so close.

"Cody!" I whispered as loudly as I dared. "Hey! Code!" When he didn't respond, I tried for twin number two. "Beck? Beckers!"

When they both failed to notice me yet again, I knocked my knuckles on the fence. "Morons! Look at me, damn you!"

"Huh?" Beck finally twisted around, hazel eyes squinting in the darkness. "Who's there?" he demanded loudly, ignoring his brother's confused, "Who're you talkin' to?"

"Shut _up_, you want the whole neighborhood t' hear ya?" I snapped. I stepped halfway into the yard and waved my arm in the air, giving a soft whistle. "Here, at the fence! It's me, Sp--it's Nikki!"

Why had I almost called myself Spark?

"Nik?" Cody echoed, slowly standing up. He began to approach the fence, his twin behind him, eyes still narrow and wary. "Is that really. . ."

"No, you idiot, it's a talking rat from the sewer," I said sarcastically. "Of _course _it's me!"

Cody and Beck glanced at each other, eyes wide, then dodged through the swing set and tried to both hug me at the same time.

"Guys, guys, stop, stop!" I tried to protest, but after a second I was pulled through the fence and stuck in a tight double-hug, incomprehensible whispers swirling around over my head.

"What the hell're you doing here?"

"Where've you _been_?!"

"Why didn't you call anybody?"

"You look like you got the shit kicked outta you, what happened?"

"Who were you with?"

"Seriously, Nik, Aunt Marie's gone _nuts_!"

"What the hell were you thinking running away like that?!"

"I didn't run away!" I interrupted a little louder than I'd wanted. "Now get off me!"

The twins backed off, recognizing the pissed tone to my voice, and stared at me with identical expressions of confusion, relief, and worry all riddled into one.

If you'd never really taken the time to know them, the twins were pretty hard to tell apart. They kept their hair the same length (and color, when they had to dye it--like for the soccer championship tradition or something), sounded alike, were the same height, and even dressed alike most days. Friends and family members, on the other hand, could usually tell one from the other--it was something in the eyes. They were the same shade of greenish hazel, but. . .I don't know, there was just something different when you looked from twin to twin.

"If you didn't run away. . ." Beck began.

"Then what the hell _were_ you doing?" Cody finished.

"Stuff," I said shortly. "I got caught up in some things. I can't talk right now. Where're Uncle Mike and Auntie Lorrie?"

"It's bowling night, they're gone," said Cody.

"Won't be back till eleven," Beck added. He shook his head. "You can't give us edited crap, Nik. The whole family's _crazy_, where've you. . .?"

I ignored him, glancing at my watch. It was nine-twenty-two. Plenty of time before their parents came home, but not enough to hang around for story time. "Look, I'm _really _pressed for time here. Does Taj still run the Knights?"

"Yeah, of course," said Cody, right as Beck asked, "Why?"

"Text him for me. I need a place to stay while I'm here. Two nights max."

"Why don't you just. . ." Beck began.

"Because I can't let anybody know I'm here!" I said sharply, cutting him off. " 'Sides, I got friends with me that need it too, so. . ."

"Friends?" Cody repeated.

"Shocking, isn't it?" I said dully, reminding myself of just this afternoon when I'd said the same thing to Fang. I turned and stepped out of the yard and back into the alley--Cody followed, and Beck stuck his head out to see. Being normal humans, they had to squint through the darkness to see where everybody was waiting at the end of the alley. One of them must've heard us, because almost in unison all their heads swiveled around to stare. Angel smiled and waved, as did Nudge. I watched Max and Fang look at each other with one of those creepy know-what-the-other's-thinking looks.

Beck eyed them warily as he stepped out into the alley, and Cody said, "Uh. . ."

"Guys, just tell me where I can go to get a place for the night," I said tiredly, catching my cousins' attention again. "There're eight of us and a little dog. Know anywhere?"

The twins looked at each other apprehensively, but then Cody sighed, digging a cell phone from his pocket. He slid it open, the light casting his face in sharp relief as he started to text. "Hang on."

"Thank you _so _much," I said, the tension that'd been building up in my chest suddenly dissipating. "I'd appreciate it more if you didn't tell anyone, either."

"Nik. . ." Beck said hesitantly. I looked at him and he scratched the back of his neck. "We won't tell, but you should really call Aunt Marie and Uncle Phil for yourself."

"I. . .can't," I said with difficulty, averting Beck's eyes (and Cody's as he looked up at me). "It's complicated." _Not to mention dangerous._

There was a soft _buzz_ and Beck tipped his twin's phone so he could read the message as well. "Taj's still up."

Sending a quick reply, Cody added, "Go by your old house. He'll be on that bus stop."

"Thanks, guys," I said quietly, running a hand through my hair. Beck put a hand on my shoulder and Cody took my hand, forcing me to look up at him.

"Head home soon, Nik," Cody said, holding my gaze. "Aunt Marie's worried. Everyone is."

"You said that, Code," I said absently, my mind drifting off to my immediate family. _Were_ they that worried about me? In guilty truth, I hadn't given them too much thought lately. . .but in my defense, I'd had other things on my mind. Things like almost getting killed and whatknot.

"It's the truth," Beck said sincerely. "Really."

"Lecture me later, Beckers. I don't have time for family crap right now." In contradiction to my statement, I hugged both of my twin cousins before they ducked back through the fence and into their backyard. Beck leaned back out right away, though, and Cody's head popped out beneath him, so they could each give me a final low-five as I turned and began heading back toward the mouth of the alley.

"See ya soon, Nikki," Beck said.

"We'll catch up with you tomorrow or something," Cody added.

"Thanks, guys," I whispered over my shoulder. Then I heard the telltale _thunk_s of the boards being shoved back into their places in the fence.

At the end of the alley, I gave a tiny synopsis of what'd gone down (translation: I basically said I'd taken care of our shelter problem for the next two nights, and we had one last stop before we could rest). Then I turned south, heading for where my old house was--where, hopefully, Taj was waiting.

After a few blocks, Max asked, "Spark, are you _sure_ those two won't tell anybody they've seen you?"

"Max, chill out," I groaned, turning around so I could walk and face her at the same time. "I trust the bookends more than my own brother or sister to keep a secret. Don't worry."

Iggy snickered. "You call them bookends?"

"As a matter of fact I do," I replied lightly. "So if everybody would just cool their jets, we'll be fine."

* * *

_No. _Con's fingers tightened on the ledge of the building's roof as he watched Spark walk beneath his gaze with the Cali group and the runaway fish. _You will _not _be fine_.

"Hey, Con," Shadow whispered, tugging on his sleeve. "Why can't we just grab her now?"

Con closed his eyes in irritation. Even after eight years of taking care of the little brat, he did _not _do well with little kids. "Civilians," he said shortly. "They'd see us. Some of the freaks might even get away."

"So we wait," Blaze finished, cracking her knuckles, "until it's just them in a secluded dead-end alley. Then we go in all gung ho and kick the crap out of 'em. Got it?"

"Oh. Okay." Shadow backed away, frowning a little. His hand drifted to his right hip, where he kept his handgun. Blaze sighed.

"_Gung_ ho, you idiot, not _gun_ ho. Means we're all ready to get this over with as quickly and painfully as possible."

A look of comprehension crossed Shadow's face. "_Ohh_!"

"Swift, Avi. Fly ahead and find where they'll be meeting that Taj kid," Con ordered, tossing a cell phone at Swift. The hawk-footed boy caught it easily and dropped it into his pocket. Avi looked at Con and he stared back. "Make them detour someplace we can take them and call me. Go."

"Okay, Con," Avi said as Swift jumped straight into the air. She unfolded her gray wings and followed Swift at a slightly slower pace.

"Blaze."

"Yeah, Con," the blackbird said absently, leaning over the roof to catch sight of Spark rounding the corner.

Con paused, scratching his head as a plan formed in his mind. "I need you and Shadow to run home and get hornet's nests, extra rounds, duct tape, nitrous oxide, nine hoods, and a van. If the nests don't work, I'll need you to burn 'em in so we can drop some N2O and knock 'em out. We need to do this _blitzkrieg*** _style."

"You got it. Call when Swift and Avi get a location."

"Yeah." And with that, Blaze and Shadow were gone, heading east, toward the Factory.

Con leaned back against the rim of the roof and sighed. They'd finally tracked Spark down as she entered the city with the fish, Dylan Westerfield. Their chips had been giving off sporadic frequencies the entire way here, glitching for some reason nobody could figure out. (Jay was _not _happy about it. . .he'd come close to firing half his personal staff in frustration.)

But at least they had a keen tail on her now. Con took one last breath, unfurled his wings, and took off from the building, staying somewhat low so he could keep an eye on Spark. He followed her as she navigated through countless side streets, alleys, and shortcuts around the worse areas of nighttime Chicago. Meanwhile, Swift and Avi were going to set up the capture sight as Blaze and Shadow took care of the means by which they would execute Con's plan.

_This _was how it was supposed to be. Quick, simple, painless. The others did what he said, no questions asked, no emotions getting in the way. Just. . .easy. Go in, grab what you need, and get out.

And it all worked very well when you were dealing with digital files or inanimate paper documents. When you threw other people into the mix, that's when things got tricky.

And with Spark, that meant _very _tricky indeed.

* * *

"Okay." I put my hands behind my head, eyes raking the street before me yet again. "Where the _hell _is that son of a. . ."

"Watch it," Max said sharply. I sighed.

"Sorry. I'm really tired right now and not in the mood for waiting around."

"That makes eight of us," Iggy said irritably.

"_Nine_, actually," Total corrected grumpily. I glanced at him and saw the dog stifle a yawn. . .which was a funny thing to see. "Where _is_ this kid? It's been ten freaking minutes."

I looked up and down Kostner Avenue one last time. "Maybe he's not coming. Let's just go back to the car. . ."

"If it's still there," Sy muttered. I gave him a look and he shrugged. "What? It's a city."

I rolled my eyes and was just beginning to follow the others back north, where the car was parked nearly thirty blocks away outside a RiteAid, when I heard a low trilling whistle.

_Tiu-tiu-tiu-tiu-tiu-tiu-twooo!_****

I stopped, and the others looked at me, but all I did was raise a finger. "Hang on."

_Tiu-tiu-tiu-tiu-tiu-tiu-twooo!_

"Was that a bird?" Iggy asked, turning his head toward the sound. I looked past him and saw a shadowy figure hesitating across the street. I pursed my lips and returned the signal, just a few octaves higher and slightly different.

_Tiu-tiu-tiu-tiu-tweee!_

The figure across the street looked both ways, then jogged across. I smiled as Taj Macklay came to a stop on the edge of the sidewalk, hiking up his jeans and letting go of the many noisy chains he wore around his neck. At nineteen years old, he was just a bit taller than me, but shorter than Iggy, more heavyset than any of the flock, and had skin a few shades darker than Nudge's. He grinned at me, straightening the faded blue bandana he wore over his cornrows.

"Yo, Nikki," he said, holding out his hand for a high-five. I slapped it and he laughed a little. "Heard from the twins you'd split. What're you doin' back here?"

"I didn't actually split," I said. "I got. . .sidetracked."

"Ah, whatever," he said, waving it off. Like me, Taj is generally a laid-back person, and was apparently willing to let me slide on an explanation. "Code texted you needed a place."

"Uh, kinda. We're. . .well, running away from people who want to kill us. You willin' to let us stay at the fall hideout?" I asked hopefully, gesturing behind me to where Sy and the flock were waiting quietly, watching our every move.

"Yeah, sure," Taj said, frowning a little. "Why'd you even ask? You know you're pa--"

"I know," I said quickly, cutting out the last part of his sentence for fear of how the flock (Max in particular) would react to the information he'd been about to give. "I was just making sure. And I never stay here longer than July anyway, so I don't even know where you guys go in fall."

"Riiigght." Taj nodded, realizing the truth behind my words. "Well, it's kinda far from here. Like. . .fourteen blocks. You down for a walk?"

I glanced at Max, who shrugged. "Whatever," she said. "Let's just go so we can rest."

"By the way, everybody, this is Taj," I said as we began the trek for the hideout of the Black Knights street gang. "Taj, this is. . ."

"Ah, I don't need to know," Taj said. "Won't remember anyway. Hey, were you serious about the people tryin' to kill you thing?"

"Unfortunately, yeah," I said tiredly. "I'll tell you more later if you need to know. . ."

"I don't," Taj said simply. We'd barely walked a block and a half when he stopped so suddenly I nearly ran into him.

"Hey, what's. . ."

"Come on," Taj said, abruptly turning down an alley between rows of houses. "Let's go this way."

Instinctively I faltered. "Why?" I asked slowly.

Taj shrugged, rubbing his temple. "I dunno. Just feel like it. It's shorter anyway."

For some reason, I looked at Max, and saw she looked as weirded out as I felt. Whoa, me and Max, agreeing on something? I should've known then that something bad was gonna happen.

But, like an idiot, I let Sy take my hand and gently pull me down after Taj. "Come on, Spark. What's the big deal? It's just a shortcu--"

_"GET DOWN!"_

I don't know who yelled it, or why. I just hit the deck and covered my head with my hands. Then something in the air went _foomp_ and then I sensed rather than saw little black spheres of metal exploding in the alley, ricocheting like no other and causing one _hell_ of a noise.

"Guys, it's a trap!" Max shouted. I looked up briefly just as a column of fire blazed through the alley. Everybody leapt up and out of the way, and I searched the sky.

Anti-flock, hovering right above us. Con, tossing what looked like a small bomb in his hand as the others surrounded him, holding their guns, more little bombs, flames (in Blaze's case), and what looked like mini fire extinguishers strapped to their arms.

As I watched, Con said something to Blaze and tossed his bomb again. This time, though, he didn't immediately catch it; Blaze pointed a finger at it and a tiny stream of flame whipped alight its fuse.

I saw it light up as it exploded, the little black balls inside it silhouetted for just a second against the flames of discharge, but then I got hit in the head with one of the ricochets from the first one. I dropped to the asphalt, clutching my head. Given the fact I was still conscious, these things were probably meant to wound and disarm rather than kill.

I heard Fang yell, "They found us! U and A, now!"

_No! _I thought incoherently. _Taj didn't tell me where the hideout was, and Sy can't fly. . .!_

A hand grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me backwards into the wall of one of the buildings. I gagged and Taj's furious voice was in my ear.

"What the f*ck's going on?!" he growled. "Who'd you lead here, what're they after?!"

"It wasn't. . .me!" I coughed out, his second sentence not making much sense. I slapped his hand away from my collar and glared at him. For some reason, he looked uncharacteristically furious about something. "I _told _you we were on the run!"

The fire went out of Taj's big brown eyes and his mouth set into a grim line. He jerked his thumb up toward the sky. "Those flyin' dudes tryin' to kill you?"

"Spark, move it!" Max cried, and I glanced up again. She and the flock were in the sky, hovering above and dodging shots from the anti-flock. Shadow looked down at us and threw another of the bombs--with a jolt I realized I knew what they were called: hornet's nests--and Taj and I instinctively ducked.

"Only the ones with bombs," I said quickly, not quite picking up on the fact that Taj hadn't shown any reaction to the _flying _children (or dog, for that matter; Total was up there too, y'know). "Max 'n the others are okay. And they're trying to capture us, but that would be just as bad as getting killed. Now, you need to get out of here. Where's the fall Knight hideout?"

He barely hesitated, instead pulling the bandana off his head. "Start at Sears Tower," he said, reaching up to tie the faded blue cloth around my head. I wondered why, then remembered with a jar of pain that I'd been hit by one of the hornets from the bomb. Couldn't say Taj didn't look out for his own. "Ten east, six south, eight east again. Stay on the left and I'll have a guard."

"Thanks, Taj," I sighed. I stood up, quickly glanced around, and saw Sy was nowhere in sight--had he run off, given that he couldn't fly? I hoped so. If anything happened to him. . .

I shook my head to clear it and smiled gratefully at the gang leader still crouched on the ground. "We'll get rid of these guys and come by later, 'kay?"

"Do what you gotta do, Nikki," Taj said, nodding at me. With a nervous glance up at the battle-ridden sky, he turned and sprinted from the alley, calling back, "I'll keep it open all night if I have to!"

I waited until he'd rounded the corner before turning and unfurling my wings, taking a short running jump into the air. Then I took a breath and waved my arms to catch the attention of a certain hated someone.

"Hey, Con! Over here!"

Stupid move by me, if I do say so myself. All he had to do was turn his eyes on me and I was falling, pain screaming through my body as he tortured my mind. I was dimly aware of someone screaming my name--one of the kids, perhaps?--before all of a sudden the pain stopped.

My eyes popped open and I flared my wings so I wouldn't splat in the dumpster. (Lovely image, isn't it?) Then I shot up again, looking around wildly to find Iggy in hand-to-hand with Con. Meanwhile, Fang was fighting Blaze, Nudge was trying to escape Avi, and Angel was squirming in Swift's arms. Shadow was trying to duct-tape a struggling Total's wings to his back, I couldn't see Gazzy anywhere, and Max was currently streaking toward Swift and Angel in an attempt to break them apart.

_No. This can't happen. This wasn't supposed to happen! _I thought frantically, beating my wings so as to get to Fang and Blaze, who were closest. Surprisingly, Blaze seemed to be winning, almost holding Fang in a headlock.

I reminded myself to make fun of him for it later.

"Get off my Goth kid!" I yelled, swinging my leg around to kick a good one at Blaze's ribs. There was a sharp _crack_ and she shrieked in rage. Fang dropped out of her grasp, throwing me a look of irritation.

"She was trying to _kill _you, moron!" I tried to say, but then there was a sharp _boom!_ as Blaze's arms burst into flames, the little tank strapped to her left arm suddenly exploding.

"Shit!" she cursed, fumbling for something hanging at her hip. In a flash she'd fixed some kind of mask thing over her mouth and nose.

A sweet smell filled my nose, so intense I nearly passed out. The thought of it seemed weirdly funny for some reason, so I began to laugh. Really, really intensely and hysterically. And couldn't stop.

The tank had been filled with nitrous oxide. Laughing gas.

"Nobody. . .breathe in. . .the air!" I called as loudly as I could, unable to stop laughing. "If you get. . .too much. . .you'll die!"

"Crack your tanks!" Con yelled, pulling his gun and slamming its holster into the tank on his own arm. The metal bent, splitting open along one poorly-welded seam, and I heard the hiss of gas. It only made me laugh harder. Then Con found his own gas mask and kicked a chuckling Iggy away so he could put it over his face. "They're really susceptible to it!"

"Can you. . .die. . .from laughing gas?" Fang asked me, and I nearly bent double, hugging my sides as I realized he was laughing, too. No half-assed chuckling or snickering or anything--real laughter. Something I was hearing for the first time.

I was slowly beginning to sink, my wings unable to keep me in the air. But in response to Fang's question, I nodded, tears running from my eyes and breaths coming in short gasps. "If. . .you get. . .too much!"

"HEY! Everybody who's not evil!"

I looked down and saw Sy and the Gasman down in the alley, by the dumpster I'd been hiding beside with Taj just a few minutes ago. Sy was holding something in front of him, waiting, and the Gasman had his hands cupped around his mouth so we could hear him.

_"__Kosanay frey machi!" _*****

"Wh-what's. . .that. . .supposed to mean?!" I laughed, not understanding what he'd said. The others, however, seemingly knew what it meant, because everybody started diving for the ground. Automatically I followed.

I was the last to touch the asphalt, and I actually sank to my knees because I couldn't stop shaking with laughter. Some of the others were laughing too, but no one as hard as me or Fang--we must've gotten the most exposure. That or the gas that'd come out of Blaze's tank was a stronger mixture than the others. Either way, I guessed Con was right and we were super-susceptible to it.

"Now, Sy!" Gazzy cried. I looked up in time to see Sy take a step and drop-kick whatever he'd been holding. The weird-looking, wires-sticking-out-of-it package flew high--too high. The bomb was actually four feet above Con's head when it detonated.

Loud curses and flashes from guns going off came out of the weirdly purple cloud of smoke, as did a lot of coughing and yelling. The strong smell of sulfur came all the way down into the alley, and it seemed to fight the effects of the laughing gas, because my laughing (and Fang's) _finally _began to lessen.

"Come on!" Max yelled, going to Fang's side and pulling him up to his feet. (Like me, he'd pretty much collapsed from the gas.) "Let's go!"

I was halfway to being upright when Sy came over and helped me the rest of the way up. Then the nine of us (well, technically eight, because the duct-taped and movement-impaired Total was in Iggy's arms. . .God, how were we going to get that stuff off without hurting him?) were sprinting out of the alley, down the street and heading for the lights of the more populated parts of the city.

We only stopped to catch our breath when we were I don't know how many blocks away. I, for one, had to lean against the building we we'd halted by, eyes closed and still letting out a shaky chuckle every now and then. My cheeks were aching from all the laughter, the rest of me was all trembly and weak, and my head was absolutely _killing _me.

"H-how. . .how'd we come up with a bomb?" I finally asked nobody in particular. "And how far away are we?"

"I dunno, like. . .twenty blocks?" Sy guessed. He touched my shoulder and I opened my eyes to look at him. "You okay?" he asked, sounding all. . .concerned. . .and stuff.

I gave a noncommittal jerk of head and shoulder. "Betcha I've felt better at _some_ point in my life," I said breathily. Geez, it was like the laughing gas had shrunk my lungs or something. Why couldn't I catch my breath?

"Was it _just _laughing gas they had in those things?" Iggy asked, putting Total down on the ground. " 'Cuz now I've got a headache, and I didn't think laughing gas did that."

"Con said we were really susceptible to it," Angel said, rubbing her forehead. "What's 'susceptible'?"

"Easily affected," Max supplied. Then she glanced over the flock, asking, "Everybody okay?"

There were nods from all around, but that didn't necessarily mean nobody was hurt--I saw bruises and nicks from the hornet's nest bombs, plus some other bumps and scratches. But overall, no broken bones and no serious-enough-for-a-hospital wounds. Yay for us.

"How'd you get a bomb?" Nudge asked, turning to the Gasman, who, along with Sy, seemed the most un-hurt. Like, barely half a scratch between them. "I mean, I thought Max told you to stop playing with that kinda stuff, and I never saw you put that thing in your backpack before we left the car. . ."

Gazzy just smiled. "You didn't see me because I didn't."

"Huh?"

"Kid's smart," Sy said, ruffling Gazzy's hair as we began to walk again, slowly progressing from semi-outskirts to inner city Chicago. "Remembered some explosive stuff he left in the car and had me run and get it."

"And you got back here that quickly?" Fang asked, raising his eyebrows. Sy shrugged, then winked at me. I held back a giggle. (Aftereffect of laughing gas. I swear!)

"I can run fast," he said simply. "And, oh, the car's not really a car anymore, by the way."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Iggy said, turning his head toward Sy as we crossed an empty street.

Sy laughed a little, scratching the back of his head. "Someone took three tires, the back bumper, broke the driver's side window, spray-painted a, uh, _bad_ picture on the side, and stole the radio. We're stuck on foot." And I could only _guess _as to what he meant by _bad_. I had to fight to keep a somewhat straight face. Damn my perverted human friends! They've corrupted me!

"Oh, well, that's nice," Max said sarcastically. "We should've left something valuable as a thank-you."

"That's life in the city for ya," I replied wryly, stretching my arms over my head and yawning. We needed to find the Sears Tower--from there we'd be able to find the Black Knight hideout and finally rest.

"Why'd they only take _three _tires?" Nudge asked, sounding confused. "Why not all four? Like, what can you do with _three tires_?"

"Maybe someone caught 'em at it," I said absently. "So they had to ditch the last one and. . .gah!"

I stumbled backward into Sy, who'd stopped abruptly at the corner of the block we'd just turned onto. He'd grabbed the back of my jacket to halt me and gain my attention. "What d'you want?" I asked, looking up at him.

He was staring up at the sign of the store we were in front of. "They're looking for us."

"Uh, no shit," I said, prying his hand off of my jacket. Max and the others were still walking, having not noticed our absence. "That's why we need to _keep moving_."

"No, I mean _they're looking for us_," he repeated, looking at me like I was stupid. I returned the expression, adding confusion to mine. He smiled.

"They're looking for five teenagers, a pre-teen, two kids, and a Scottish terrier. The dog is black. The two kids, a boy and a girl, are blond with blue eyes. The pre-teen is a black girl with curly hair and of the teens, two are dirty-blond girls, one's a strawberry-blond blind boy, one's got dark hair, and the last has silver hair."

"Your point being. . .?" I prompted, not yet realizing where he was going with this. Sy continued to smile.

He held up his hands, fingers separated into twos and threes. "They're not looking for just two or three of us." He splayed his fingers out and laced them together. "They're looking for all eight. With our current descriptions."

_Ooohhhh. _"So you're saying we all dye our hair, get new clothes, and split up?"

Sy swept out his left arm and I finally looked at the store we were in front of. It was a beauty salon. My eyes flickered to the door and I saw a handwritten sign that announced _this _particular place would be open until ten thirty tonight, so last-minute takers could come and get all dolled up (. . .what a stupid expression. Forget I said it) for some neighborhood dance down the street. As of now, it was nine-fifty-one.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Sy said with satisfaction.

I paused, rolling the idea over in my mind. "Have I ever told you you're my favorite?"

"Not recently," he replied with a smirk. I smiled back.

"You're my favorite. Hey, Max, wait up!"

* * *

*the title of this chapter coincides with the previous one. so the entire thing goes: "CHICken in the CAr and the car won't GO: that's how you spell CHICAGO." it's a little rhyme thingie i learned when i was little.

**tee-hee. code geass reference.

***_blitzkrieg_ = german for "lightning war," and the type of warfare germany used during world war II. see, history _did _stick.

****you do _not _know how long it took me to figure out how to convey a whistle through words. . .

*****that was supposed to be the flock's secret language stuff. i just took the words from what i'd made up for another story. . .it means "clear the air."

dude, this chapter's the longest one _yet_! it even beat out chapter nineteen!

does this mean the next chapter can be short. . .?


	34. Chapter 34

last chapter we broke 100,000 words! woo!

but geez. already to chapter thirty-four and we're what, halfway through? not even. i mean, i know exactly what's gonna happen, but no idea how long it's gonna take to get there.

anyways. . .

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**34. unexpected**_

"I gotta say, I'm gonna miss the silver," I said as I flipped through faded band t-shirts. I glanced up at Sy and smirked. "The 'cut and the black kinda makes you look emo."

"Really?" Sy reached up and pulled on a lock of his new dark hair, halting in his own hunt for new clothes. The hairdresser had shortened it in the back and left the front right side longer, but it still had that scruffy look that I absolutely loved. "I kinda like it. Except I'll look like a zebra when it starts washing out." The hairdressers here had apparently been a little less free-spirited than the ones in New York, so all of the dye was temporary. It'd wash out after a while.

"True that," I snickered, and then the similarly-black-haired Iggy came up behind me and touched my head, making me jump.

"Hm," he said. His haircut now looked like what Sy's used to--hanging in his eyes, longer in the back to negate any bowl-cut look, and a careful mess. It was black as well, and streaked with dark blue. "I like the red. And the gold. It's like your head's on fire."

They'd taken my long, dirty-blond locks and shortened them to about my shoulders. Then they brightened the hell out of it with highlights and added different shades of red, red-blond, and gold-blond. So, yeah, my head was a giant fireball. And it rocked.

I looked over my shoulder at Iggy, smirking. "Yeah? I'm diggin' the pink they put in yours."

"What?!" He touched his own hair, then let out a breath. "Oh, you scared me for a second."

"Hey, you started it."

"I meant mine in a good way."

"Oh, right. Uh-huh."

"Oh, God, I would pay _so _much money to see somebody wear this!" Sy pulled a bright-green tank top from the rack and tossed it over our heads. I looked behind Iggy and saw Fang, who was at the rack behind us, easily step out of the way, as if even touching the neon cloth would hurt him in some way. The chick that'd done his hair had lightened it considerably, making it almost the color of leather before highlighting it with blond. It looked so. . .not him. Gazzy was the same color brunette, with supershort spikes covering his head.

Beyond him, Max, Nudge, and Angel were picking out shoes. Rather than bleach-blond, they'd changed Max to something akin to Iggy's natural color--strawberry-blond, with normal blond streaks and darker tips. Angel was a little more red, but it was nicely done, not too weird. Nudge's hair was a straightened medley of black, brown, and red.

Total--who was still black, by the way, because we hadn't yet figured out a way to turn him a different color--sniffed at the t-shirt on the floor. "I may be color-blind, but even _I _know that's a horrible color," he muttered, sticking up his nose at it.

"Shhh!" I shushed him as an old woman hobbled past us on her way to the books. "You're a _dog_, remember?"

"As a matter of fact, I _do _remember, because it's this same _dog _that has _duct tape_ wrapped around him like he's a frickin' roll of the dang stuff!!" Total hissed. I rolled my eyes--true, we hadn't yet figured out how to remove the duct tape either, but that, at least, was concealed beneath the red service-dog attire.

"We'll find a way to take it off later," Max said, coming up behind Total with Angel and Nudge in tow. "Is everybody done shopping? It's getting really late."

"Geez, is it?" I went to check my watch and realized it was broken--the face had been smashed in by one of the hornet's nests bombs. _Aw, man. . ._

"It's almost eleven," Sy supplied. Then he pulled out his mom's credit card and asked, "_Is _everybody good to go?"

He got nods all around, so we scared up a cart and dumped everybody's clothes into it; Sy then went up and paid and then we retreated _back_ to the changing rooms to get into our new clothes.

I don't know about the others, but I did a personal systems check as I changed, going over all of my recent wounds and scars.

First off: my wing, the very first injury in the long road of injuries. Entirely fine now, and as I inspected it in the mirror, I could barely see the scar caused by the crazy homeless guy's knife.

Second: my neck. Two separate injuries--both Blaze and Sy's attempted strangulation of me. I frowned, poking at the faint outline of Blaze's hand. If I held my breath, it flared up red again, but other than that it was nearly unnoticeable.

Third: back of my head. Blaze had slammed my skull into the wall of that cell multiple times, but the bump could barely be felt.

Fourth: ribs. (Again, courtesy of Blaze.) I poked at them and felt no pain.

Fifth: right arm. (Need I say her name?) I'd ditched the stupid brace back at the motel, so it'd actually been okay for a while.

Sixth: stomach, from Blaze _and _Swift. I still had three jagged slashmarks across my stomach from Swift's little clawing kick maneuver, but they'd fade with time.

Seventh (geez, I'd been getting hurt a lot): my black scars from my idiotic stab-a-light-socket move. They were still painfully visible from the centers of my palms, up my arms and across my shoulders. I sighed as I examined them. Would they ever go away?

Eighth: random grazes from stray bullets, and possible those metal balls from the hornet's nests. Mostly healed over, though, so yay for me. The worst was the one on my head, which had bled more than it was worth. After inspecting it I re-tied Taj's blue bandana around my forehead, which was a weird contrast to my fiery hair.

Ninth: oh, wait. No ninth wound. Cool. So, besides the wicked scars, I was fine.

"Spark, come on, we're leaving," Max called, knocking on my dressing room door.

"Got it, Max," I called back, hurriedly slipping on a new sweatshirt over Con's jacket-converted-to-vest thing. I strapped my gun into its makeshift holster (which I think, at one time, may have been a cell-phone case) and hid it beneath my shirt.

The flock (plus Sy) convened at the corner just outside the thrift store, looking very different than we had upon going in. As I pulled on the hat I'd gotten over my crazy (yet very cool) fire-hair, Sy came up behind me to clamp his hands on my shoulders. I jumped and whirled to look at him.

"You finally changed clothes," he teased. "You look weird when you're not in clothes that are all scuffed up and stuff."

"Ah ha ha," I said, rolling my eyes. Then I looked him up and down and smirked. "Your look is different too, I must say. Very emo, and a little punk. _Tres _you." Sy pushed on the bill of my hat, covering my eyes. I laughed.

"Apparently, skulls are the only things they put on t-shirts anymore," he replied. His new outfit consisted of a black t-shirt with a giant white skull on it, a gray-black overshirt, dark blue skinny jeans, and checkered boat shoes. "Hats, too, I guess."

"Hey!" I clamped my beanie to my head and stuck out my tongue at him. "This hat's awesome!"

True, the light gray hat had a little white skull logo, but it was cool besides. The rest of my clothes were stuff I was used to wearing--light blue jeans, a blue t-shirt with the phrase "who are you and why are you reading my shirt?" written in white across the chest, and a thin red zip-up hoodie with gray and black nonsensical stuff sprayed across the front. I'd tossed my broken watch and gotten a new one as well.

"Guys, stop messing around," Max ordered. She had on pale blue jeans and a white t-shirt, some white-and-blue tennis shoes covering her feet and a nice brown jacket over her shoulders. She flipped her hair out of her face impatiently and added, "We're kinda running away from psychos trying to kill us. We need to get someplace safe."

"That would be the fall hideout of the Black Knights," I said, scratching the back of my neck. I beckoned everyone closer and gave the directions. "If we start at the Sears Tower, we can head east about ten blocks, then turn south for another six, and east again for another eight. If we stay on the left side of the road, there'll be a kid with a black arm-band waiting outside one of the houses."

"What's his name?" Nudge asked. I shrugged.

"No idea. Not like it matters. Oh, and when we're around them, you have to call me Nikki."

"Um, why?" the Gasman said. "Have they met you before?"

"Very briefly, but I got in anyway. And Nikki's my actual name, so. . ."

"Wait, you're _part _of the gang?" Iggy said incredulously. "You failed to mention _that_ when you said we'd be staying with them."

"Ahh. . ." _Crap_. I hadn't meant to say _that_! "Well, sorry. I never thought my being a Black Knight of Chicago would be of importance." I let out a breath and straightened up, scanning the skyline. After I spotted the Sears Tower, I pointed it out to the others. "See that building over there? If we somehow get separated, head for there and follow the directions I just said."

"Why would we get separated?" Nudge asked. "I mean, it's not like we can be recognized after this awesome makeover. By the way Sy, that was a good idea. . ."

"You never know what could happen," Max interrupted before Nudge could start babbling. "So let's go."

* * *

It was a rather uneventful trek to our destination; things didn't get exciting until we were coming up to our street.

"Hey, Spark. That the kid waiting for us?"

"Hm?" I went up by Max's side and glanced up the block--sure enough, there was a big teenager leaning against the door of a house halfway down the line. "Oh. I'd guess so. . .yeah, he's wearing a black armband, like Taj said. Let's go."

"Think you should take the lead on it?" Fang asked, giving me a look that sorta said I didn't really have a choice.

"Well, I _am _a better people person," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes. We soon came up to the kid leaning against the front door of the house that was Taj's gang's hideout.

"Yo." I left the flock on the sidewalk and hopped up the steps, coming up to the guard. He looked at me skeptically and I said, "Taj is waiting for me. Could you let us in?"

"Hm." The kid smirked and looked away. "No idea what you're talkin' about, kid."

"Come on, I'm a Knight, just like you."

"Sure. _You're_ who I've been waitin' all night for," the kid said sarcastically. "Some crazy punk and her bitches."

I'm a different person when I'm in Chicago. It's like the air transforms me into a vicious, paranoid wolverine-child whenever I'm in the city. So, please, don't be surprised when I tell you I slammed the guard to the front door (obviously a mislead), my forearm pressing against his neck hard enough for him to know I was serious.

"Listen, you stupid little creep, I am _not _some crazy punk and I did _not _hear you call my friends bitches," I growled. "My name's Nikki Ackerly. I'm Cody and Beck's cousin, I'm a Black Knight, and you are going to tell us how to get in, got it?" I shoved him again for good measure before stepping back, my arms crossed.

The kid coughed a couple times, glaring up at me. "You don't look like the twins." _Oh, you little liar. . .same facial structure, pal! Look it up!_ "So prove it, c*nt. Prove you're a Knight."

I lifted the hem of my shirt and used my thumb to pull down a little section of my jeans. There on my left hip was a black tattoo, the mark of the Black Knights. It was actually just a horse--no actual man astride it to be called a knight--and it kinda looked like some of the logos of the jean brand Union Bay. And it always reminded me of my school mascot, the LP Rangers.

Cody and Beck had dragged me along to one of the gang's meetings during my last family visit--well, technically _two _visits ago, because the last one had been last week, and this thing had happened last year. Taj had offered me a membership because I was cousin to the twins. I accepted, passed the entrance test by beating up on a more experienced Knight, and had the mark tattooed into my skin by Taj himself. It'd hurt a little, but not so much that it made the top ten on my list of grievances.

And as of yet, my parents are still unknowledgable about it. So don't tell them. Or I will have to hurt you.

"Oh." The kid instantly deflated. He sheepishly pointed to the alley on my left. "Real door's around that way. Mark's spray-painted on the one that leads inside. Say somethin' about a pineapple an' they'll let you in."

"Thank you, Creeper," I said, straightening my jacket. Just a simple password would never do--someone could overhear it and maybe sneak in. Ergo, you mentioned a predetermined word or phrase in a sentence to get in.

He breathed a curse and rolled his eyes when he thought I wasn't looking. So, before I turned to descend back to the sidewalk, I gave him a light knock to the head. "And let's watch that potty mouth, okay?"

"Dude, that was totally _badass_!" Sy whispered as I touched down on the concrete and began to lead the flock for the alley. He touched my shoulder and winked, causing my neckline to grow warm. "And the tattoo's _sweet_."

"You were kinda scary, too," Angel added matter-of-factly, coming up and grabbing my hand. "You really freaked that kid out, Spark."

"Well, good," I mumbled. "Maybe he needed to be freaked. Look, here's the door." I stopped by a flat metal door-like thing in the wall; I knew it was the right place because the same image as my tattoo was graffitied in black up at the top. Without further ado I pounded my fist on the door.

"Who is it?" a voice demanded. I recognized it as thirteen-year-old Ezra Smith, one of the underling members of the gang that Taj had "assigned" to me a week after my entrance into the gang. It'd been Ezra's older brother Jacob that I'd beat up on to get in.

"Nikki Ackerly."

"Don't know ya. Get lost!"

"Let me in or I'll find a pineapple and shove it up your ass!"

The door creaked open and I saw Ezra, dreadlocked and gap-toothed, waiting with a giant grin on his face. "Yo, Nikki! Didn't know you was back in town!" I low-fived him and returned the smile as Sy pushed the door closed behind us. "How ya been?"

"All right, Ezra. You?"

"I'm cool, I'm cool. Who're the punks?" he asked, nodding at the flock behind me. I rolled my eyes.

"Friends. They're cool. Guys, this is Ezra. Hey, where's Taj? Said we could stay here."

"This way." Ezra locked the door we'd come in through and started down the hall, toward a doorway that spilled light.

I tried to follow, but Max grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.

"What?"

"You're absolutely _sure_ we'll be safe here?" she demanded. "Con found us pretty easily out there. How do you know he won't find us here?"

"Because this place is totally secret?" I guessed. "Max, I'm not exactly _one hundred _percent sure Con won't find us, but I'm, like, ninety-eight percent sure. So please. We're all tired, we need to rest, and this is our best bet right now. Besides, Taj is like my brother. We should be safe."

"Nik?" Ezra called from down the hall.

"Max, if you're that paranoid, stay here by the door while I get the all-clear from Taj," I said. "However, if I start to little-girl-scream, I give you permission to run away as if you, too, were frightened little first-graders." Max rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as Iggy snickered. I smiled brightly, then turned and skipped toward Ezra. (That got some more laughter from the flock as well, which made me feel better despite my tiredness.)

"Always gotta get a laugh, huh?" Ezra asked, smirking at me. I punched his shoulder good-naturedly and started following him across a tiled kitchen floor and into a dim living room. Ezra pressed a finger to his lips as we crept past a few kid-sized lumps huddled up in blankets and pillows on the floor.

Neglected kids were a usual occurrence at whatever "hideout" Taj had rented for the season. Having come from a rough household himself, he understood that sometimes, you just didn't want to sleep at home.

Frankly, the Black Knights was a very weird street gang. _Nothing_ like what you saw on TV. Sure, there was a rather brutal entrance test, but beyond that, it was like a giant family. There were hardly any disputes, but if any _did _arise, they were settled verbally, in rather amusing trash-talk contests. Sometimes Taj had to step in, but really, most of us got along.

Ezra led me through a swinging door into a sitting room, where Taj was sitting with some other members of the Knights around a beat-up coffee table. They all looked up when Ezra and I entered, and most of them I recognized.

"Yo, Nikki!" Taj said, a genuine smile breaking over his face. "You got outta that scrape okay?"

"Sure did. Others are waiting by the door," I said, crossing over to sit on the armrest of the couch Taj was on. I pulled off my hat and Taj's eyes went wide. "Even went so far as to disguise ourselves in case they found us again. There room for us here?"

" 'Course. Mitch, you clear out the upstairs?" Taj said, looking to a black boy sitting cross-legged on the floor. Like Ezra, he had dreads, and nodded silently in response to the gang leader's question.

"Two rooms at the end of the hall, Taj. We're lucky only Josh and Amy decided to come tonight--the extra pillows and stuff are in the rooms."

Josh and Amy were probably the child-sized lumps in the other room. I nodded at Mitch's statement, then asked, "Hey, can you be sure someone's. . .well. . .on watch tonight? Usually Max has us do it in shifts, but it'd be nice if we could all sleep a whole night through. . ."

"Yeah, yeah, we're all stuck here tonight anyway," Taj said, waving a hand. "We'll have someone watch the windows." I let out a breath and smiled.

"Thanks, bro," I sighed, standing up. I held out my hand for a fist-bump, which he returned. "See ya in the mornin'."

"Yeah, we'll talk."

* * *

"Hey, Nik, wake up," a boy whispered, shaking my shoulder.

_Leave me alone. . .just ten minutes before I have to go to school. . ._

"C'mon, Nik."

_. . .You don't sound like my mom. . ._

"Your cousins are here. And Taj wanted to see ya."

_. . .Huh?_

I blearily raised my head and forced my eyes to open. Rather than the bright colors of my childish Pokemon pillowcase, I saw boring old white. I pushed myself further upright and looked around: rather than the tan walls of my bedroom, the peely wallpaper of the Black Knight hideout. On either side of me, Nudge and Angel, still sound asleep. Beyond Angel was Max, and beyond Nudge, with his hand still on my shoulder, crouched a light blond freckled boy I vaguely recognized as one of Taj's more trusted friends. What was his name. . .Trace?

"Nikki, come on," he repeated with a slight Southern accent, shaking my shoulder again. "Wake up. You got stuff to do."

_Oh. I'm _not_ home. Right. . ._

"Crap in a goddamn bucket," I mumbled, resisting the urge to just plop back down and sleep. Carefully so as to not wake the others, I wriggled out of the pile of blankets and cushions and crept over Nudge to follow Trace out of the room. Fighting a yawn, I asked, "Why the _hell_ is Taj waking me up so early?"

"It's almost nine o' clock, Ackerly. I've already been up fer three hours maself."

"Nice to see you too, Trace."

He grinned toothily at me, then went still. I stopped as I heard it too: thundering footsteps.

"Uh-oh," Trace said, then flattened himself against the wall. I turned toward the staircase and barely got a glimpse of white t-shirt and bleach-blond hair before I was bombarded by my ever-so-subtle twin cousins, Cody and Beck.

"Nikki, ya made it!"

"Whoa, what'd you do to your _hair_?"

"What the crap?!" I laughed. "What's it _look _like I did, Beckers? I dyed it!"

"But _why_?" Cody asked, ruffling said newly-dyed hair. "It looks like someone set you on fire!"

"Wasn't really my decision," I said, pushing his hand away. "I told the guy to do whatever he wanted as long as it didn't look stupid."

"Guys, calm down!" Trace interrupted, pushing his stocky stature into our three-way hug. "Look, I know y'all haven't seen each other in like _ten hours_, but Taj told me to get Nikki downstairs. 'Sides, the rest of 'em are tryin' to sleep," he added, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the doors at the other end of the hall. "So let's go."

Cody, Beck and I all looked at each other, smirking at Trace's accent. But nevertheless we followed down the stairs, the twins babbling at me a stream of dialogue that I didn't even bother to pay attention to.

Once we touched down on the ground floor, I heard Taj call my name and looked to the doorway that led to the kitchen. Taj was leaning against it, smirking. He jerked his head toward the side door and said, "Walk with me."

"What's up?" I asked, flocking to Taj's side like any mindless gangbanger droid.

"I gotta talk to you about some things."

My heart stopped for a millisecond, but I kept walking as we exited the house and left the alley that held the side door. I glanced to the front door and saw the same kid that'd been guarding it the night before was still there. I frowned.

"Nik, you listenin' to me?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry." I shook my head as we turned, setting the Sears Tower in our sights. "What was it you wanted to know?"

"Those guys last night," Taj said without preamble. Instantly I got a bad feeling about it but remained in step with the gang leader. "The ones who tried to kill you. They had wings."

"Uh. . ."

"So did those guys you were hangin' with."

"Well. . ."

"_And_ their dog. Ask me, that was just freaky."

"Ah. . ."

"What's the deal with 'em?"

"Hm." I scratched the back of my head, trying to think best how to word an answer to Taj's question. "Well, the thing is. . ."

"Watch it, Nik!" Taj suddenly exclaimed, grabbing the back of my shirt and yanking me back. Not in time, though; I'd barely turned my head when something in black and white ran straight into me. There was a ripping noise and then I saw a bunch of apples bouncing along the concrete.

"Crap! Aw, no, I'm really sorry," I apologized, automatically dropping to my knees to gather up the scattered fruits. "I wasn't watching where I was going, I. . ."

"It is all right, child," said a serene and slightly amused voice. "They are just apples, and I am sure you did not mean to knock them from my grasp."

I went stock-still just as I was reaching for the last apple. I knew that voice. At first I didn't want to believe it, didn't want to look up into that kind, weathered face. . .for a second I was five years old again, freezing at the sound of the voice that always caught me when I was doing something bad.

"I-I-I'm sorry, Sister Katherine," I stuttered, quickly grabbing the last apple and standing up. I turned, arms full of bruised apples, and looked up into the face of the nun who'd found me on the streets of this very same city, ten years ago, just after my escape from that awful armored car. "I really didn't mean to run into you."

The tall, slightly intimidating nun halted in the straightening of her wimple (really, that's what their hats are called) and looked down at me. At first there was a hint of confusion in her unyielding blue eyes, but then they warmed and brightened in recognition. Sister Katherine smiled, adding more lines to a slightly-wrinkled face.

"The Lord doth work in mysterious ways," she said softly, crossing herself. Then the nun pulled me into a tight bear hug, crying, "Oh, my child, it has been too long since I saw you last!"

* * *

ah! the nun that found spark when she was little has appeared! how the he-eck did that happen?!

oh. because i wrote it. duh.


	35. Chapter 35

happy new year, everybody!

just so you know, i was writing this chapter as we made the change from 2009 to 2010. 'cuz i'm that cool. . .

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**35. light and darkness**_

"I-I-I know," I stuttered, my voice muffled by Sister Katherine's habit. The apples I'd just given to her were back on the sidewalk, as she had both arms around me. She was hugging me so tight that _my _arms were actually pinned to my sides, rendering me immobile against her.

My first thought? _Oh, shit, my gun. . .!_

But no sooner had I thought it did she let me go, holding me at arm's length to take me in. Whereas she'd barely changed, no doubt I looked way different than when she'd last seen me, when I was ten. Were those. . .tears in her eyes?

"Five years, at least," she said softly, smiling down at me. Sister Katherine was a tree of a woman--probably why I'd taken to her so well upon our first meeting. No part of her gave off a sign of weakness, so maybe my five-year-old mind had thought she could protect me from the men in white coats. . .

_"Hah. . .hah. . .hah. . ." I was panting, gasping for breath as I stumbled to a stop outside a tall, narrow white house. In one hand I held a faded, blood-red jacket. The other, a pair of gray tennis shoes._

_The Goodwill I'd taken them from was nearly ten blocks away, way beyond their chasing range. I slumped against the stoop of the house and shivered--it _was_ fall, after all, and I was currently only wearing a black t-shirt and ragged blue jean cut-offs._

_I sat down on the sidewalk and pulled on the stolen footwear over my dirty socks, my first-ever pair of shoes. I hesitated at the strings--the laces--before I just pulled them tight and tied them together. Then I put my arms through the jacket, frowning when I realized just how big it was. Young men's had been the section I'd taken it from, hadn't it? Ah well. I'd grow into it. . ._

_"Excuse me, child."_

_I jerked at the sound of the voice and twisted around, finding a woman in a weird black and white outfit just at the foot of the stoop I was sitting near. In her arms were two brown paper bags, and she was watching me with clear blue eyes._

_"Where are your parents?" the woman asked in a no-nonsense tone. I faintly remembered a TV show I'd once seen, and recognized her attire as that of a nun's. I just blinked at her. Parents? Those were adults that took care of kids on TV and in books. If anything, I guess Mr. Jay was my. . ._

_Pain twitched across my skull as Mr. Jay's face appeared in and vanished from my mind's eye. "Nnn. . .!"_

_A crisp sigh. "Touchy matter, then? Hm. Ah, well. Would you help me with my bags?"_

_I looked back up at the nun staring down at me, a weird look replacing the previously stern, blank expression. What was it? Concern? Pity?_

_Either way, I stood up. I took one of the bags from the nun and followed her warily up the stairs to the house, where she took out a set of keys to unlock the door. One of the keychains was a cross._

_The nun stepped into the house and beckoned me to follow her inside. I did, following her down a narrow gray hallway and into a small blue kitchen. The nun set down her bag on a dark round table, and I put mine beside it._

_The nun took off her hat, setting it down on a countertop beside a sink. Her hair was short and steely gray, adding to her intimidating figure, but then she smiled._

_"Thank you, young angel," she said. "Would you mind staying here with me while I make a phone call?"_

_I blinked, doing nothing, and the nun continued to smile. Something about her made me feel. . .safe. I allowed her to pick up the phone because I knew she'd never call those horrible men. No--she was good, like Con and Blaze and Swift. . ._

_I winced as another jolt of pain wiped my mind clean of the faces I'd grown up with. A flicker of sadness darted through the nun's clear eyes as I sat, fists clenching under the sleeves of my stolen jacket._

_The face of that nun, Sister Katherine, was the earliest face I'd be able to recall for nearly ten years._

Taj's elbow suddenly bumped mine as he stood up straight (he'd been picking up the twice-dropped apples), and I jerked away from memory lane, in the present once again. "So, like I was sayin', Sister, I was just tryin' to get her to tell me about the others when we ran into you. And I thought I said we'd come to you. . .?"

"Oh, but Gabriel, you were late," Sister Katherine said serenely. "You told me last night you would bring her by seven-forty-five."

"Well, I thought she needed the sleep," Taj said, grinning apologetically. I blinked.

"Hey, wait a second, you two know each other?" I asked, looking from nun to gang leader and back again. They both smiled at me, Katherine nodding as Taj said, "You got it, Nik."

"But. . .uh. . ._how_?"

"Come with me, child," Sister Katherine said, putting a light hand on my head. Normally, it would freak me out, but this time, I didn't even have to repress a shudder. Was this nun the only one allowed to do that because she was the first one to care for me? Just me, and not my wings or my talents or my skills?

"Sister K and I go way back," Taj said cheerfully, coming to my other side. I'm sure we looked quite the group--nineteen-year-old black gang leader, fifteen-year-old fire-haired freak, and formidible tree-like nun--as we strolled down the street of one of the slums of Chicago. "Back to when I was, like, eleven, and I helped out at the church instead of goin' home after school."

_Eleven? That means I was seven. . .I was already with the Ackerlys. With Mom and Dad, and Kenny and Jeremy. In Colorado. I was safe._

"And a lot of help you were, Gabriel," Sister Katherine said fondly. "My second guardian angel. You, Nicole, were my first, of course."

"Guardian angel?" I echoed, way confused as we continued down the street. I think we were just going to wander aimlessly for a while. Unless we were heading for Sister Katherine's abbey. . .?

"Of course. Your wings make you unmistakeable, and though Gabriel has no wings, he is just as pur--Nicole?"

I'd frozen as soon as she said _wings_. She'd figured it out somehow! She'd seen my wings! And she'd just told Taj about them! _That damn nun!_

"Y-y-you know?" I whispered hoarsely as both Taj and aforementioned damn nun came back to my sides. "Y-you know I have. . .wings. . .?"

"Well of course," Sister Katherine said gently, herding me and Taj to the side of the walk, out of the way of the other pedestrians. Then she chuckled. "You never _could _hide much from me. I knew the first night you slept in my home."

"And hey, Nik, you gotta give _me _some credit, too," Taj added, grinning. "You an' the twins spent the night lotsa times, and I saw the only thing different between you guys was that you slept on your front and they sleep on their backs. Plus, I saw a feather stickin' outta your shirt. I checked."

"Wait a second. . .you _both _knew?" I cried incredulously, looking at the two of them. The seemed confused at my distress; I was confused too. They'd known what I was and hadn't confronted me about it?! "You knew the whole time? And you didn't _tell _me?! What the _hell_?!"

"Language, Nicole," Sister Katherine said, her eye glinting. I winced.

"Oh. S-sorry."

"Yeah, we knew," Taj said, arching an eyebrow. "After I found out, I went to Sister Katherine and asked her about it. We thought you'd tell us if you wanted to."

"I. . .but. . .I. . ." Geez, you think you know somebody! I shook my head, trying to put the realization out of my mind. "I'm so confused."

"Hey, don't be," Taj said reassuringly, putting an arm around my shoulders. He ruffled my hair, making me twitch. "I was gonna bring you to Sister Katherine so the three of us could figure out what's goin' on with ya."

"What d'you mean, what's going on with me?"

"Gabriel called me last night, after you and your friends had arrived safely to his care," Sister Katherine explained. "He told me that you had earlier been attacked by others of your kind, and that your friends were like you as well. I suggested that he bring you to me so I could help you realize what your enemies' purpose was in attacking you. And speaking of, we should resume our heading. We are not far." With a slight but firm tug on my sleeve, the nun began to steer us once again in a heading to wherever it was we were going. Her little white house, with the gray hallways and little blue kitchen? No, this wasn't the right way. . .Her abbey? I hadn't been there since I was ten or so, but I was pretty sure it was somewhere around here.

But my attention was more focused on a different part of the nun's sentence. "_Purpose_? Their _purpose_ was to kidnap me and my friends!" I said. "They want me back in that. . .that place!"

"What place?" Taj asked quickly.

"The. . .the place they made me," I mumbled. My fists clenched. "And as long as I have free will, I'm never going back there."

"Calm yourself, Nicole," Sister Katherine said soothingly. "You are free, as God has intended. However, one day, He may also intend for you to return to the place of your creation."

"Well, I hope that day is _really _far away. Really, really, _really _far away."

"We shall see. Here we are."

I stopped and examined the building we'd come to--a little chapel in a rare island of space, with nearly twenty-five feet between it and the buildings on either side of it. It was a neat little structure, constructed of brick with big oak doors and a simple (though tarnished) brass cross hanging over the threshold.

Taj and I followed Sister Katherine inside, whereupon I found that the place was, surprisingly, empty. I looked at her quizzically as we went down a hall, toward where they held Sunday school, and she said, "I asked my sisters to give us a few hours of peace. Though Sister Mary and Sister Josephine were saddened when they learned they could not see you, they agreed."

_Riiight. . .Mary and Josephine. I remember them. . ._After Foster Family #4 got rid of me just before Christmas of '99, I spent the holidays with Sister Katherine and her fellow penguins Mary and Josephine in this very building. They'd been nice. Mary had been similar to Katherine--maybe a little less intimidating. And when they'd been giving out shares of "fun" and "nice" during nun training, Josephine had gotten extra of both.

"Oh," I said, still thinking back to that slightly-depressing Christmas. Despite the nuns' efforts, I'd still been one of the world's least-happy five-year-olds that year. . . "Tell them I said hi."

"I will." The three of us went into one of the rooms, one that was full of small trapezoid-shaped tables and colorful plastic chairs. Sister Katherine went straight to the only normal-sized chair, up in the front of the room behind a desk, leaving me and Taj to make do with the child-sized seats.

"So. Let's get down to business," Taj said, pulling a yellow chair away from a table and sitting down. "Tell us what's up with you."

"Gabriel, please show more decorum," Sister Katherine sighed, shaking her head. "Your education seems to be disappearing by the day."

Taj grinned at her and I snickered. I still found it weird that gang leader and nun were friends, but it was funny, which made it better.

"It's all right," I said, and they both looked at me expectantly. "I'll, uh, start from. . .well, when I was five, I guess."

It took about twenty minutes, but I explained to the best of my ability what my situation currently was. That is, my supposed friends from the past were now after me and the other winged kids I'd run into a week or so ago. And how the leader of said winged kids was supposed to save the world or something. (Max still hadn't fully explained that part for me yet. . .) And how she thought part of that opacity could be cleared up at the place of my creation, which happened to be here in Chicago.

"Huh." Taj put his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands. "So, basically, they wanna kidnap you 'cuz you escaped when you were a kid?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well. That is absolutely ridiculous," Sister Katherine sniffed. "You have a family now. They should appreciate that. And they've gotten along perfectly well without you these past ten years."

"These guys are the grudge-holding type," I said wryly. "And they'll do anything to get me back. They don't care how I've changed or who I'll be leaving behind."

"Hey, how's that other kid come into this?" Taj asked. "The one that wasn't flyin' yesterday. With the silvery hair."

"That's Sy," I said, shifting around in my tiny chair. When it was meant for a grade-schooler, your butt went numb pretty dang fast. "He's not part bird, like me or Max, so he doesn't have wings. He's part fish. And he kinda got dragged into all of this because of me."

"Really?" Taj's eyes widened and he whistled. "That's gotta be cool. So he's just along for the ride?"

I shrugged a shoulder. "I guess. I haven't. . .I haven't asked him what he's gonna do when I have to leave with Max." I frowned as I thought about it. _Actually, I hadn't thought about it 'till now. . .and I don't wanna have to think about it 'till later._

"Have you confronted them about it?" Sister Katherine asked suddenly. "The children trying to kidnap you, about your reason for escaping."

"I tried," I said truthfully. "But the thing was, I didn't know who they were when I was telling them." Taj and Sister K looked at me weird and I took a breath. "They were under the impression I'd ditched them, so they were super-pi--er, mad at me about it, but I'd apparently blocked out everything before the running-away part, so _I'd _thought of it as my escape, but then they made me remember and. . .oh, I don't know, it was weird. . ."

"Why did you try to escape in the first place?" Taj asked.

"The guys who made me were evil," I said simply. "Torture, abuse, all-around non-goodness, so I just busted out first chance I got. Didn't look back."

"And your mind tried to erase all memory of the horror you went through," Sister Katherine said, nodding her head. "They didn't know that had happened, and thought you had run away and left them there."

"Right!" Man, how come I couldn't sound that logical? "And they kicked the crap outta me for not remembering, too, so even if I _had _known them when they first had me, I'd still be trying to get away from them now."

"Well." Sister Katherine put her hands on the desk she was sitting at and stood up, taking a deep breath. "I think that has been enough talk for today. Gabriel, Nicole, would you two like to stay for breakfast?"

_Breakfast? _I suddenly remembered that it was, like, nine-thirty in the morning, and my hunger came to my attention like a bunch of teenage girls at the midnight release of the newest _Twilight_ book.

"Actually, we've gotta get back to the house," Taj said, smiling apologetically as he, too, got to his feet. I imitated him and joined the realm of the tall. "Pretty sure some of the regulars are gettin' there right about now, so Nik's friends are probably up."

"All right then." Sister Katherine smiled so warmly, with such care in her eyes that it made me falter for a second. _Oh, Mom, I miss you. Dad, too. All of you._ "Then, my angels, this is good-bye for now."

She walked us to the door of the chapel, whereupon she hugged Taj, then me. This time I was able to hug her back.

"God be with you, Nicole," she whispered in my ear.

"And also with you, Sister Katherine," I replied. The nun let me go and straightened up, her eyes suddenly misty. She opened her mouth to say one final thing, but Taj cut her off.

"Hey, Nik, before we leave." I looked at him and he half-smiled guiltly. "Can. . .can we see 'em? Your wings, I mean. 'Cuz, I know I saw Max's and them's yesterday, but they were kinda far away, and my eyes aren't too good, so. . ."

"Oh, stop trying to disguise it," I said, smirking. He was curious. Harmless. I shrugged my sweatshirt from my shoulders and a twitch of my shoulders, I shuffled my wings, then looked behind me to see if I had room. I did.

So. . .

"Oh, my," Sister Katherine breathed, crossing herself. Taj's eyes popped wide, and he muttered, "Geez. . ."

I shifted uncomfortably as my feathers aligned into place. What're you supposed to do when people just start staring at you like that? Smile and wave like an idiot? Tell 'em to take a picture 'cuz it'll last longer? What? "Um. . ."

Sister Katherine stepped closer, eyes fixed on my wings. Slowly, she reached up. "May I?"

I shrugged. "Go ahead."

The nun touched my left wing, running her fingers lightly over my feathers and sending a shiver through the entire limb. _Hey, that tickles. . .Hey!_ I looked to my right and found Taj touching my other wing, staring at it with a carefully blank expression.

After a moment or three of awkward silence (well, awkward for _me_), Sister Katherine sighed. "Why didn't you trust me with your secret, child?" she asked. "I am always glad to help the Lord's messengers, whether their wings be physical or not."

_Lord's messenger. . .? _I thought in confusion, but then it hit me: She thought I was an angel. Great. An angel who fights, curses, lies, shoots lightning from her hands, owns a _gun_, has a _tattoo_,and is part of a Chicago street gang. Yeah. Totally. I'm a great angel. I glanced sidelong at Taj, but he didn't seem to be paying much attention. Focused more on the wing than the person attached to it.

"Though. . ." Sister Katherine's voice caught me again and I looked back to her, where she'd moved behind me to see the back of my wings. She ran her hand across my feathers, studying their odd coloring. "I haven't seen any angels of your kind before."

I cleared my throat. "My kind?"

"A Light and Darkness Angel. The power to give life, and the power to take it away."

Yippee for special-lookin' wings, then. But. . ._angel._ That word was the trigger. I swallowed and guiltily thought to my recent escapades from the last week and a half. The plethora of cuss words, the violence, the stealing. And even worse, to the past five years I'd gone without seeing her--stuff even _you _don't want to know about. I took a breath and said, "I'm sorry, Sister Katherine, but I'm not an angel. I'm. . .well, you don't wanna know what I've been up to these past few years."

Sister Katherine laughed lightly and touched the top of my head again. I looked up at her, bewildered, and found her smiling.

"You are confused, child. Even the blind man could see that."

"Uh. . ."

"Within you are both light and darkness. The need to do good in the world, and also the need to do evil." Oh. She was still on the angel thing. "You walk a trapeze only a thread wide. And whether you fall into darkness or rise up toward the Lord and heaven shall be your own choice when that thread breaks."

Why'd she have to go all profound and philosophical and sincere on me like that? I hunched my shoulders and kicked at the ground as I pulled my wings in. Her words had started me down the path of remembering all the non-angelic things I'd done in my life. How I'd gotten into fights at school. Let my friends cheat off my tests. Gone behind my parents' backs and snuck out after curfew. How I'd vented frustration by playing with fire and sending lightning to strike the earth in random places. It all made me feel guilty and stuff. Feelings that were totally not super-special-awesome.

And what "thread" was she talking about? The thread that was my sanity? That, when it broke and I finally went crazy, I would either be a bad-crazy or a good-crazy? (Either way, I'd still be crazy, so that put a damper on the whole deal.) Or was this metaphorical thread the line that marked "too far" on my personal violence/destruction/juvenile evil scale? I didn't have a clue.

Dimly, I heard Sister Katherine say, "Trust your wings, my angel. They will not fail you."

* * *

was this an okay chapter? i wasn't too sure about it. . .

but oh well. it's up and there's not much i'm gonna do about it. so, to kick off the new year, i present you a challenge!

o eqffgz wtsotct ngx ktqsomtr o ktqkkqfutr dn atnwgqkr atnl qshiqwtzoeqssn!!!

he (or she) who can decode this message gets. . .well, nothing, actually. but it should be a good head-scratcher for those of you who get bored easily. hint: it's something to do with a keyboard. PM me your guesses and the answer will be revealed in chapter thirty-seven.


	36. Chapter 36

sorry for the wait. i experienced a bit of writer's block with this chapter so i stepped back to take a breather when i stumbled into co-writing a funny and silly fairy tale with one of my friends from school. it's deliriously fun to write and i guess i forgot about this for a bit.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride

* * *

_**36. test out your laughs, villans, for the plot thickens!**_

"Time to get 'em up," Beck said, punching his twin's arm. "You take that room, 'kay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Cody replied, moving toward the door of the girls' room. He knocked and hesitated, waiting for a signal to go in.

Beck wasn't nearly that polite for the boys' room. He just burst right in, crying, "Yo, peeps, up an' at 'em!"

All four boys, scattered though they were about the room, jerked in unison, and Beck held back a snicker. One of the two blackbirds knocked his head on the edge of the windowsill as he sat up. This time he _did _laugh.

"Hey, guys, it's ten a.m., which means it's time for you to _get up_!" he said in his best cheery weatherman voice. "My brother's waking up your friends across the way, and even though you don't know us and we don't know you, that doesn't mean you don't have to get up and face a new day! So let's go! Wake up!"

He got muffled groans in reply. So, Beck found an abandoned pillow and toured the perimeter of the room so he could whack each of the teenaged boys over the head with it. The little kid he left alone--he was practically up anyway.

"Up! Now!"

"Oooww! Goddammit, leave me alone!" The kid who'd hit his head on the windowsill tried futilely to bury his head back in his pillow, but Beck swung his weapon-pillow through the air and hit him again. And again. And again. Soon enough the boy threw his arms up over his head. "Ow! Will. . .you. . .stop it!!"

"Hey, what's going on?" the other blackbird asked as he stood up and stretched. The little kid replied with: "Um, some kid's attacking Sy with a pillow."

"Dude! Stop _hitting _me!" the boy on the floor, Sy, said in frustration. He swung a leg around and kicked Beck's feet from under him. As Beck crashed to the floor, his weapon-pillow fell from his hands. "I'm _up_! Geez!"

"Hey, I was just waking you up!" Beck laughed, ducking his head as Sy smacked him with a pillow. "Ow! Have a fit, man!"

"Beck! You were just supposed to wake them up!" Beck looked over toward the door and saw his twin watching the proceedings with amusement, the three girls from the other room hovering behind him.

"That's what I was doing!" Beck rolled out of the way as Sy aimed to drop the weapon-pillow on his head. He laughed, then sprang to his feet with an energy that seemed unnatural. With a brilliant smile, Beck held out a hand toward Sy. "No hard feelin's, man. My name's Beck, and I'm hyperactive!"

Sy eyed him warily. "I can see that you are. I'm Sy."

"I'm Cody!" Beck's twin piped up from the door, waving his hand and mimicking his brother's smile. "We're Nikki's cousins." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and added, "She's downstairs, by the way, with Taj. They made a stop at Dominick's and got a bunch of food for breakfast. Come on!"

* * *

It was so. . .so _surreal_ to see the flock come tramping down the stairs after my cousins. A weird clash of old life and new, of past and present. I mean, here I was with Taj and Ezra and Trace and Mitch and Cody and Beck, trying to fit back into the human mold when I was so brazenly reminded that I could never do so by the arrival of my other friends. The _non_human ones.

I watched each and every one of them perk right out of their sleepiness as they saw the huge array of breakfast foods on the island counter of the kitchen. Breakfast bars, cereal, Pop Tarts, fruit, toast, muffins, donuts, juice, and milk. The humans quickly got out of the way, having been warned by me of the flock's huge appetite.

I left the others to tuck in and wandered over to the kitchen table, sitting down and closing my eyes. I took a deep, contented breath, because for once, I felt safe again. A bit tired, but safe.

The weight of keeping my wings a secret had lessened after my talk with Taj and Sister Katherine. At least two of my human friends knew now (or, in this case, had revealed to me that they'd always known), so to at least two of my human friends I didn't have to lie anymore. It was. . .nice. Especially because they hadn't freaked out and abandoned me.

I felt someone sit down in the chair beside me and opened my eyes. It was Sy.

"So where were you?" he yawned, rubbing the heel of his hand to his eye in an attempt to banish his sleepiness. His newly-black hair kinda gave me a start, but I knew I'd get used to it. Or at least endure until it washed out.

"Went for a walk with Taj," I said as I fought the urge to yawn myself--damn things are contagious.

"Where?"

"Not far. Just a couple blocks. I had to tell him what was going on."

"Did you tell the truth?"

"Yeah," I said casually. "He's a good guy, though, so we don't have to worry about it."

"Whatever you say." Sy took a deep breath before resting his head on the table. Obviously he was a slow waker. As I watched him rest, some of Taj's words echoed in my head.

_Hey, how's that other kid come into this?_

_So he's just along for the ride?_

I frowned slightly.

"Hey, Sy."

He lifted his head to look at me.

"Wanna go for a walk?"

* * *

"What does he _see _in her?" Blaze muttered under her breath as she watched Spark and Dylan* walk aimlessly down the street. Just a second ago, Dylan had taken her hand. And she'd let him.

It was obvious that they'd tried to alter their appearances as some sort of disguise--Dylan's beautiful silver hair was now black, and Spark's previously blond tresses were a blended mix of red, orange, and gold--but that hadn't fooled Blaze or the others in the slightest.

They'd gotten another laptop installed with Itex's tracking program and keyed in the codes to the chips hidden in both Spark's and Dylan's necklaces.

It was Chicago's (and Salt Lake's, for the Factory and the Aquatic Lab were closely allied) trademark--the chipped necklaces. They gave them to all their experiments, on the off chance another branch tried to pull a fast one. Like, claim they'd sent it off to the next branch on the kid's route when they'd really tried to hide it away. The chip was their insurance policy--nobody but the lead scientists of the Factory (well, them and the anti-flock) knew they existed.

But lately. . .well, actually, ever since Spark had run away, her chip had been malfunctioning. Giving off random signals from the midwest once every couple years, never long enough to pin down an exact location. It was so damn _frustrating!_

And Dylan's chip? Well, ever since he'd upped and left Salt Lake, his chip had been spazzing out as well. Nobody knew why and nobody was happy about it.

However, because both chips were in close proximity, they were giving off more-or-less stable signals. It'd allowed Swift to finally pinpoint their location--rounding the corner in a heading for the inner city.

Still holding hands.

Blaze's fists clenched.

Ever since she was twelve or so, Jay had been sending her, Con, and the others out to Salt Lake more and more often. After all, they--along with the fish-kids--were the oldest living hybrids Itex had created. The scientists over there had slightly less idiotic people working the machines used to observe DNA, so they were constantly taking blood and hair and whatknot to study, see just what had gone so right with Con and Blaze and the eldest fish-kids, Ariel and Dylan.

Naturally, the four of them had gotten somewhat acquainted.

And ever since their first trip to Salt Lake, Blaze had always thought Dylan was more than a little cute.

Though she'd never admit it out loud.

Blaze pulled out a cell phone and flipped it open, pressing and holding the number two button. The call was sent, and it'd barely begun to ring when Con answered.

"What?"

"They went around the corner. South, heading for Shadow."

"Okay. I'll get Avi and meet him over there. You and Swift follow Spark and make sure she goes the right way."

"Got it."

Blaze pocketed the cell phone, hardly wasting a thought about the short, clipped conversation. That was how it always went--report, receive orders, confirm, hang up. They didn't have time to waste on hellos or goodbyes. They had a job to do. And they only had a hundred minutes a month between them.

Blaze backed up, then ran and flung herself off the building, unfurling her wings to catch the wind. With a few hard flaps, she was airborne, flying east, where Swift was waiting a few blocks up. Con was west, and Avi was north--they'd covered all the bases, with Blaze sitting on the house to see which way Spark would head when she came out.

She hauled wing to fetch Shadow, once again thankful that he hardly ever spoke to question orders. Then the two of them circled around and went south, lingering a bit as they passed over Spark and Dylan to be sure they were still going the right way. They were.

In fact, they went the exact way Jay and Marein, Dylan's mother, had predicted they would go. Couldn't say the whitecoats didn't know their kids; Spark and Dylan even paused in the mouth of the alley Shadow had been assigned to watch.

Con and Avi were already there, on either side of Shadow as they peered over the ledge of a roof to watch the two on the sidewalk. Silently, Blaze and Swift landed, folded their wings, and joined them.

Now for a bit of eavesdropping.

Blaze and Swift seemed to have come in on the middle of a conversation, because at first neither understood what was going on. They soon got the gist of it, though.

Dylan was speaking. "So. . .ah, God, I'm really bad at this, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are. But it's entertaining," Spark laughed. Giggled, actually. Blaze rolled her eyes. "Besides, I doubt I'm better than you."

"You've never dated anyone before?" Dylan asked, surprised.

Oh. So they were talking about _that_.

Spark shook her head. "Nope. In case you haven't noticed, I have a. . .back condition," she said, glancing around to be sure no one was listening too closely. Too bad for her, she never looked up.

"So?"

Spark looked back at Dylan incomprehensibly. "_So_ I can't really have a normal relationship, can I?"

"Well, I _guess_ not, but. . .don't tell me none of those 'friends' back home didn't ask you out." If anything, Dylan was always too kind. Once again, Blaze's knuckles went pale. It'd been endearing when he was nice to other people, but not to Spark. Spark was a traitor and a back-stabber and immature and idiotic and. . .wait. . .was that. . .was Spark _blushing_?

"Well, uh. . .a few did, I guess, but. . .I just. . .said no." Dylan broke into a smile and Spark punched him lightly. "See, I'm just as bad as you are!"

"But it's entertaining," Dylan replied, flashing her a brilliant smile. Then he leaned down, and Spark tilted her face up, and. . .

"Oh, God, if they kiss, I'm gonna puke," Blaze muttered under her breath. Con elbowed her to be quiet.

They kissed.

_"Eeeeeewwwwwww!"_ Shadow started back from the roof's edge, horrified. Con whirled around to smack him, but it was too late--down below, Spark and Dylan jerked apart, looking up for the source of the noise.

Con swore. "Go, now! Catch her before she can run!"

Like synchronized swimmers, Blaze, Swift, and Avi dove off the roof one by one, flaring their wings so they wouldn't slam into the ground as they landed at the mouth of the alley, blocking at least Dylan's escape. Con and Shadow were right behind them, feet touching the ground as the two targets whirled to run.

Blaze's smirk mirrored Con's as Spark and Dylan looked back and forth, realizing they were trapped. Those kinds of expressions were always the best--that of a cornered rat with a single option: make a break for it and try to fight off the world's biggest, meanest, most horrifying cat.

Spark let out a breath and turned her back to Blaze so she could face Con. Dylan did no such thing, preferring to keep an eye on the spiky-haired bird-girl. With a tone that implied boredom, Spark said, "You guys _really _have a way for ruining my day, you know that?"

"Funny, I was gonna say the same thing about you," Con replied mockingly.

As one, the anti-flock took a step closer, tightening the noose.

"Stop talking and get out of here," Dylan mumbled to Spark, eyes carefully moving from Blaze to Swift to Avi. Twin sapphire irises flashed ruby-red in an especially filthy look thrown at Blaze. "Fly."

Still at his back, Spark tensed, refusing to take her eyes off of Con and Shadow. "I'm not leaving you," she muttered back.

How sweet.

And yet so terribly, terribly stupid.

Con chuckled. "You two make a good couple. We were watching from up there, by the way," he said, nodding his head up toward the roof and delighting in the rosy flush that burned at Spark's cheeks. "Sad that after today the only time you'll see each other again will be in hell." He pulled out his gun and held it up toward Spark. The other members of the anti-flock mimicked him. "Now turn around like good little boys and girls and follow Blaze to the van. Okay?"

"Hm. I wonder just how many different ways I can say _hell no_?" Spark said, tapping a finger to her chin in mock thought.

"I know I've got five," Dylan said after he made a show of counting on his fingers.

"Huh. I know eight," she replied, hand drifting down toward her hip. Right--she had a gun as well. "Unless 'I'd rather sell my soul to the devil' can be counted as a variation of it."

"Not sure." Dylan took half a step away from Spark and said something else, only this time his voice was so quiet Blaze couldn't hear. Whatever it was, it seemed to surprise Spark, because she looked back over her shoulder at him in confusion.

Then, quicker than even the genetically-altered eye could follow, Dylan's hand came up and delivered an open-handed blow to the side of Sparks head. She spun around and then Dylan balled a fist and buried it in Spark's stomach. She doubled over as Dylan stole her gun, a near identical copy of Blaze's, Con's, Swift's, Shadow's, and Avi's. The black-haired fish hybrid slammed the butt of the pistol into Spark's back, right between her shoulderblades. She went down with a small, rather pathetic cry of pain.

Blaze looked to Con for orders, completely confused at what'd just happened. Con didn't return her gaze--instead, he stared down at Spark for a moment, then raised his gun to point at Dylan.

"And what the hell was that?" he asked mildly.

"Tch. What'd it look like? I disarmed her." Dylan rolled his eyes, keeping the gun he'd taken from Spark trained on the girl at his feet. "That van you have better not be far, 'cuz I am _not _hauling her more than a block in broad daylight."

Con's eyes flickered toward Blaze and he gave her a miniscule nod. Quickly, in a rudimentary new language that the Factory had just started on with Salt Lake, she asked, "You betray her?"

Dylan looked over to Blaze, arching the eyebrow of one red-flecked eye. With a cocky sort of smirk, he responded in the same language.

"Yes."

* * *

_Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnng-doooooooong._

Kendra swore she could sense the impatience behind the doorbell's ring, and didn't appreciate it. Irritated, she hit pause on her _Law and Order _rerun and got up from the couch, ignoring the dog's insanely loud barking and opening the front door.

Always a slightly-less-than-completely-honest, toughened-in-the-city kinda girl, her heart just about stopped at the sight of the two suited detectives standing on the porch. Creepily, they reminded her of the show that was currently paused in the other room--a headstrong man with a serious expression and a formidable yet attractive female.

Carefully, she pushed TJ out of the way and lifted the window of the screen door. "Can I help you?" she asked warily.

In creepy synchronization, the detectives held up their badges--Kendra got a good enough look to realize they were genuine. Then the man asked, "Your mom or dad home? We have some questions we need to ask them."

"They're both at work," Kendra said slowly. She wasn't so adamant about keeping the dog back from the door now. Cops asking questions = bad news. Always. Especially with Nikki, 'cuz of her. . ._no, stop. She's not here. They can't come in unless they have a warrant or I allow them. We've haven't done anything either._ "They won't be back until late tonight." She plastered on a fake smile. "Sorry."

"Well, maybe you can help us," the woman detective said. Then, incredibly, she pulled a picture from her pocket and showed it to Kenny. A picture of _Nikki_. "This is your sister, correct?"

". . .I'm sorry, why are you asking about her?" Kendra asked, instantly defensive. Dad's number one rule when people in authority asked about Nikki: they have no reason to think she's not human or not a part of the family.

"Well, a few of her friends contacted our office yesterday claiming that she was missing."

"Do you know where she is?"

_No. I don't. She just sent us random texts telling us absolutely _nothing_! She could be dead for all we know!!_ Kendra blinked once, banishing the sudden threat of tears. "Um, she's staying with family. My dad's cousin is a writer, and she's been into that kinda stuff, so she's staying with her for a while." Only a half-lie. Nik got super-bored at school, and was always daydreaming, so naturally she just. . .

"Just her? Why aren't you all there?"

"We've already visited," Kenny answered with a bit of stiff frostiness to her tone. "Nik just got to stay a couple more days for a chance to meet with a publisher. Her friends were probably just over-reacting. I'll them later." _Hell yeah I'll tell them. Tell them to keep their noses out of our f*cking business._

A touch of a smile flickered across the male cop's lips. Then he reached into his jacket to pull out a business card. He held it up, then stuck it into the crack of the screen door, which Kendra had kept firmly shut the entire time. "Give us a call when she gets back, okay? For our own peace of mind."

"Mm." Kenny had to fight not to keep the "I'm-so-sure" sneer off her face. "I'll do that."

"All right then," the female said, offering a smile that the teen did not return. "We'll get out of your hair."

_Yes, please. I need to wash the slime of your presence from it anyway._

She watched as the detectives turned and strode down the driveway, into their dark sedan and out of the cul-de-sac the Ackerly house rested in. Then she cracked open the screen door, caught the business card before it could flutter to the ground, and locked the main door tight, a weird sort of anger bubbling in her chest. Stalking through the living room and into the kitchen, Kenny ripped up the business card furiously, shredding it into smaller and smaller pieces.

_Why the hell were _detectives_ here? They could've easily sent uniforms to do this, why'd they waste their time?_

Kendra dropped the torn-up card into the trash can and took a steadying breath. Then. . .

_. . .But it's still summer. Nikki doesn't have a phone, so she doesn't normally talk to her friends until school starts. Who called the police?_

* * *

*remember, dylan is sy's real name, the one his mother calls him by. and as he doesn't count the anti-flock among his friends, he's never told them he prefers to be called sy.

as i said in the title of the chapter: the plot thickens! ooooohhhh. . .

'till next time!


	37. Chapter 37

all right. so, two chapters ago, i gave you a coded message:

o eqffgz wtsotct ngx ktqsomtr o ktqkkqfutr dn atnwgqkr atnl qshiqwtzoeqssn!!!

what it means:

i cannot believe you realized i rearranged my keyboard keys alphabetically!!!

. . .i got bored. sue me. credit to Asuterisuku for figuring it out!

and love to all my dear reviewers. you make me happy. ^^

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

(but spark is mine. and so are all other people you don't recognize from the original maximum ride series.)

(and the members of the anti-flock belong to their individual creators: blackberry01, 11Twilightcrazy, FireHawk43, amongthewinged, and GrimmGurl4Lyf3. if i could i would hug you all.)

* * *

_**37. captured. . .again**_

Con and Blaze stood side by side, Con with his arms crossed, Blaze leaning close to the one-way window. Neither saying a word, both deep in suspicious thought.

In the interrogation room sat Dylan.

He looked bored. When he wasn't resting his forehead on the table, he was tapping his long, pale fingers on the tabletop and tilting his chair back, swinging his feet aimlessly when they left the floor. Sure, he'd kicked up a fuss when he'd first been put in the room ("This is _stupid!_ Why are you wasting time on _me_?! _She's _the one you wanted, right?!"), but now he was calm, quiet, and cooperative.

"How long are we gonna keep him in there?" Blaze finally asked. "Jay gave us two hours before his mom gets here."

Con checked his watched--it'd already been about forty-five minutes. And Avi had stopped by earlier, before she, Shadow, and Swift had been called off to routine testing: Spark was still unconscious. Satisfactorily detained, but unconscious, and therefore useless until further notice.

Con took a breath and uncrossed his arms, rolling his shoulders in a vain attempt to relieve the tension that had built up ever since they'd begun this stupid chase for Spark.

Stupid ex-sister. She was like smoke--you could only see or hold her for so long, if at all.

"I'll just start now," Con told Blaze. "You stay here and watch."

She nodded, and with that he entered interrogation.

Dylan looked around as the door opened and shut, letting the legs of his chair drop down to all four as Con entered the room. He arched an eyebrow over one haughty, blue-but-red-flecked eye.

"Finally," he said jadedly. He tilted his head slightly. "Did you learn anything from watching me sit here for forty-three minutes?"

"Not much," Con responded casually, leaning against the one-way window. "Just that you get really bored really quickly."

"Doesn't everyone?" Dylan asked innocently. He let out a sigh and leaned his elbows on the table. "But that doesn't matter. Had I not known you were going to come in eventually, I wouldn't've been bored for long. I probably would've just left."

"Oh?" Con blinked in mock confusion. "And how would you have done that? The door's been locked."

The fish hybrid scoffed and leaned back, tilting in his chair once again. "Barely. I practiced on those types of locks when I was seven years old. I woulda been outta here and on with my plan in twenty seconds. Eight if I had a pick."

"Pretty confident about that, huh?" Con had distinctly picked up on the word _plan_, but didn't jump on it just yet; if he talked around long enough they'd get back to it, and perhaps by then it would be easier to get out of him.

"Of course." Dylan flicked his head to get the hair out of his eyes. "You've watched my dry runs back in Salt Lake. I'm wicked at this kinda stuff."

Well, that _was_ true. Privileged life forms such as the anti-flock and nearly three-fourths of the fish-kid population were sometimes allowed to sit in and watch tests on their fellow experiments. So Con was well acquainted with the fact that of the fish-kid population, Dylan Westerfield was the most talented. The apple of Salt Lake Aquatic Lab's eye. Their pride and joy. Their golden boy. The best of the best. Poster child for successful human/fish crossbreeds.

Con mentally shook himself out of the winding path of synonyms and nodded his head. "I've a got a question for you, Dylan."

"I've got an answer you're probably not gonna like, Constantine." Man was he cocky. It was irritating.

Con switched gears, and a light smirk pulled at the corners of his lips. "What's your deal with Spark?"

Dylan blinked, the legs of his chair falling heavily to the floor. "My _deal_?"

"Well, from what we saw earlier you two looked pretty. . .friendly."

The red in Dylan's eyes flickered, shifting and vanishing for just a moment, but then he smiled warmly. "What can I say?" he asked with a shrug. "As per my plan, her liking me was just a plus that was making it easier. A _definite_ plus, too."

So he'd been using her. He'd never thought Dylan could be that mean--frosty sarcasm was the farthest Con had ever seen him go. "Again with that word," he said, reverting to his original tactic. "Plan."

"What of it?" Dylan asked tonelessly, beginning to look bored again.

"The fact you actually had one astounds me."

Dylan crossed his arms. "Of _course_ I had a plan. A plan that you guys did a good job of wrecking." At Con's prompting look, the fish boy rolled his eyes and explained. "I was _going to_ bring her and the Cali group in for you under the pretense that we were 'breaking in' to 'steal' a bunch of 'information' about Max's 'saving the world' crap. Now, all you have is Spark. Good going."

"We _had_ Spark before you even came into the picture anyway, though. Was the only reason for busting her out to get her to lead you to the Cali group?"

"_No_. It was to get her to lead me to them _and _get information from her under the pretense that we were _friends_. _Duh_."

"So you planned to get close to her," Con said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "And that--the closeness--would've magically allowed you to learn everything there is to know about her?"

"Not magically. _Obviously_," Dylan corrected impatiently. "She thought I _liked _her. Thought I was her _friend_. Naturally she would've told me stuff, 'cuz that's what _friends _do. _But_, because you guys came storming in _way too goddamn early_, we know nothing. So congratulations, Con, you've won Official Dumbass of the Year!"

Con tensed. "How were _we_ supposed to have _any_ idea about the direction this so-carefully-concocted plan of action was going to take?"

Dylan laughed once, the sound seemingly disbelieving of Con's stupidity. "I would've sent you an e-mail or something. Told you everything. And I was going to last night, but those Cali group freaks were watching my every move and I couldn't lift the laptop she stole."

There was a sudden pounding on the one-way window, and Con jumped, whirling around to face it. _What the. . .?_

* * *

Blaze caught the woman's wrist as she drew it back to bang on the window again. "Dr. Westerfield, stop, you can't. . .!"

The woman, Dr. Westerfield, ignored Blaze, wrenching her arm out of the girl's grasp. She pounded the window again and raised her voice so she could be heard through the glass. "Dylan! Oh, my baby, you're all right!!" she cried, her sapphire-blue eyes glistening with tears.

Blaze groaned and slapped her hand to her forehead. She glanced through the one-way window to check Con's and Dylan's reactions. Con's mouth twitched, as if he were trying not to laugh, while Dylan's eyes had gone wide, flickering erratically between red and blue, his face going paler than normal, if that was possible.

Blaze turned to glare over her shoulder at the man standing a little away from the window. "You said we had two hours!"

The man shrugged, his bushy brown mustache twitching. His pale green eyes held a distinctive flicker of fatigue, and he sighed, tucking a clipboard under his arm. "She's a worried mother, Blaze," he said, dropping his pen into the chest pocket of his white coat. "A force that even I cannot hold back."

"You're useless, Jay," Blaze muttered, then turned and pressed the button for the intercom into the interrogation room. "Con, it's his mom."

"Yeah, I kinda guessed that," Con replied wryly, smirking. "I thought Jay gave us two hours?"

"I did too."

"Constantine!" Marein Westerfield, Dylan's mother, snapped angrily as she slapped the window again. "You leave my son alone, he's been through enough!"

Con rolled his eyes and Dylan, who had been frozen to his chair, flinched as his mother hit the window. Blaze saw his lips form the words, "Oh my God."

"Dr. Westerfield, it's just a routine questioning," Julian Newell said in a businesslike tone. He stepped forward and tried to lay a hand on the tall, model-like woman's shoulder. She shook him off as if he were no more than an irritable fly, but he pressed on. "Con and Blaze found him with Spark and assumed he was on her side when he suddenly knocked her out and became cooperative. It was suspicious, so. . ."

"Of course you assumed he was on her side!" Marein said venemously. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and took on a prideful tone. "He was _acting_. My son has an amazing talent, just like his father's."

"You--Mom!!" Dylan protested from inside the interrogation room. The intercom had never been turned off, so he and a now-snickering Con had heard everything.

"Oh, honey, don't be so modest," Marein crooned, smiling fondly as if she thought Dylan could see her. "You _know_ you can act. I'm sure that little wretch believed every single word you said to her."

"I. . .you. . .Oh my God!" Dylan let his head fall to the tabletop as Con began laughing outright.

"I see no reason for this." Marein turned to face Jay full-on, hands on her hips, expression sliding from one of motherly affection to one of barely contained rage. "Dr. Newell, you told me I could have my son back when Spark woke up. And she's awake now, isn't she?"

"Spark's awake?" Blaze echoed quickly, looking to Jay in surprise. In the interrogation room, Con went still and even Dylan brought his head up off the table to listen.

"I, er. . .well, yes, but. . ." Jay seemed to cower before Marein's simmering anger.

"Then let me have my son back," she said frostily, holding out her hand. Sheepishly, Jay reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver key, dropping it into Marein's palm. She whisked around and strode into the interrogation room, beelining straight for Dylan--she grabbed his wrist and unlocked the bracelet that encircled it, an electro-cuff Con had snapped on as a precaution as soon as they'd entered the Factory.

Con rolled his eyes and left the room as Marein attempted to smother Dylan with a hug. (Needless to say, Dylan squirmed uncooperatively and mumbled out weak protests.) Blaze discreetly pressed the _off_ button for the intercom into the interrogation room as Con closed the door behind him. Then the two of them looked to Jay expectantly.

The scientist sighed, rubbing his temple, where gray hairs were starting to grow in, mingling with the wispy, light sandy brown that covered the rest of his head. "Go see what you can get out of her," he said tiredly, stepping back and gesturing toward the door. Con and Blaze both nodded curtly before leaving, going straight for Spark's containment cell.

Jay stepped closer to the one-way window and studied the proceedings within. Marein Westerfield--God, was she a piece of work--fawned relentlessly over her son, Dylan, who looked exceedingly uncomfortabe as he tried to wriggle out of his mother's grasp. Jay suspected that the boy knew the _real_ reason behind Marein's worry: that she was going to lose her leading evidence that _her _recombinant group was superior to the others. The new Director of Itex was holding a conference in London next month, and all whitecoats around the world had been scrambling to latch on to one of the three main superpowers of human-animal recombinant DNA life forms: bird, fish, and cat.

Whichever representatives of each group passed the testing successfully would win their branch of Itex billions and billions of dollars in grants for further research and experimenting. It was vital that all rouge hybrids were rounded up and given two choices: cooperation, or death.

* * *

I was very aware of the chill of the cement floor beneath me as I finally and groggily returned to the world of conscious people. (Not always the best world to be in, but hey. Stuff happens here.) The cold seeped through my clothes, down to my bones, and I surpressed a shiver.

_So cold. . .and oh, God, my _head. . .

The pain in said head was another thing I was very aware of. Funny thing about pain--she's a stupid little bitch that has become way too familiar for my tastes. I think she may be stalking me.

And the third thing I was very aware of? The memory of Sy whispering, _There goes my plan_. Right before he whipped around and smacked me so hard I saw stars. Socked me in the stomach so hard I nearly puked up my breakfast all over his shoes. (He'd deserve it, the jerk.) Stole my gun and slammed it between my wings so hard I fell, cracking my head on the ground so hard I lost consciousness.

I opened my eyes slowly, my head throbbing as I struggled to sit upright--I had to struggle because I had magnetic bracelets (same as the ones they'd stuck on me after kidnapping me out of the bottom of Salt Lake) binding my wrists together behind my back. Similar devices kept my ankles stuck together.

Swallowing all desire to fidget and squirm and vocalize my pain like some small frustrated child, I looked around my newest prison.

It was simple. Boring. Plain black walls, gray cement floor that was slowly making my ass go numb, depressing fluorescent lights, definite eau de creepy air that set my teeth on edge. I shivered--part from cold, part from uneasy nerves--when I saw the ever-so-subtle three-by-five foot one-way mirror-window thing beside the doorknob-less metal door in the corner.

I sighed and cast my eyes downward, leaning against the walls of the corner I'd been dumped in and bringing my knees close to my chest so I could assume an upright fetal position. It was then that I realized I was no longer in the clothes I'd been wearing upon waking this morning--jeans, blue t-shirt, and red hoodie. Rather, I was dressed in the attire of the Goth kid forced to dress out for gym: nylon shorts that came to my knees and a nylon workout t-shirt, both black. My feet were shoeless, clad in thin black ankle socks.

Really. They'd even taken my _socks_.

I rested my forehead on my knees and began to wait. And wait. At one point, I briefly wondered if I was in for another world of pain, equivalent to what accompanied the forced wearing of a dress, or what I'd received back in Utah. The two came pretty close, at least on my list. But that's beside the point.

Suddenly, I heard a faint _boom_, like that of a distant, very heavy door falling shut. I barely had time to brace myself before the door of my cell flung inward so Con and Blaze could stride in.

My head snapped up as they came to stand a few feet from me, making me feel small as I sat on the floor. I also felt a bit claustrophobic with them blocking the way to the door, but refused to let it show on my face.

I allowed a second of glaring hatred to burn through my expression before I sneered in a Southern accent, "Well, well, if it ain't ma big bruver an' sister. Come ta give me a good beatin' agin? Er are ya just here ta say howdy?"

Blaze twitched, her fists curling and her eyes flickering silver, but Con merely arched one of his eyebrows at me, the ghost of a smile playing about the edges of his mouth. "We _should_ kick the crap out of you for what you did back in Salt Lake, but we have orders to follow and scientists to impress."

"What I did?" I echoed, wrinkling my nose a little. "Refresh my memory."

"Trashing our rooms. Stealing our stuff," Con said offhandedly, inspecting his fingernails. He tensed slightly. "Making us look like idiots."

"I'll atone to the first two, but that last one was all you, Connie," I responded warmly. I took pleasure in the way he flinched involuntarily, the way Blaze's eyes fairly glowed with angry silver light. "Nothing I do could ever make you bigger screw-ups."

"Heh." Con smirked coldly. "Well, I _was_ going to give you some friendly advice, but now I don't think I will."

"Oooohh. Trying to take advantage of my curiosity. Nice move."

"It's not so much _advice_ as it is a. . ._warning_," Blaze suddenly said. I looked at her, slightly astonished--for some reason, her voice wasn't filled with fury and contempt and frustration like it normally was. It was actually in the realm of neutral calm, of slightly concerned bystander. It creeped me out.

"A _warning_," I echoed. I looked back and forth between them, where Con had wandered over to lean against the wall, where Blaze was standing uneasily still, fists clenched tightly at her sides. "You two, of all people, want to _warn _me."

Con's jaw twitched, but Blaze nodded curtly. "Yes."

Le gasp! Was Blaze actually capable of some other emotion besides hate?!

(Note strong use of sarcasm.)

I hesitated. Then, as it was always wont to do, my curiosity got the better of me. Despite the fact they were probably playing me, I said, "All right, I'll bite. What's this so-called warning you wish to bestow upon me?"

"They're going to try to break you," Blaze said, her tone clipped and somewhat forced. "Turn you into a snivelling little lapdog that'll do whatever they want."

"They want to turn me into you guys?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Will you shut up?" Con said suddenly, looking at me with disgust. "You don't know us. You have no idea what rules we're breaking right now."

I smirked.

They just made it too goddamn easy.

"You're right in one. I _don't _know what rules you're breaking. But don't know _you_?" I shook my head. "Nah. I see sad, self-absorbed, angst-ridden _human_ kids like you every single day. Difference is they're a bit lower on the scale 'cuz you _actually _have a bad life, whereas they usually don't. But still, it's exactly the same."

Blaze's knuckes were slowly going white, and if Con's jaw clenched any more, he'd turn his teeth to dust. Both were glaring like they really could kill me with their eyes, but because that isn't actually possible (I don't think), I went on, malice thick in my voice and spite burning in my eyes.

"You think nobody understands you, that nobody _gets _the exact level that is the horror of your problem. You tell your friends--God forbid _you _have any--every single little thing that makes your life hell, daring them to take pity just so you can lash out at them and tell them you don't need it. You think that by bending over and taking it, you can call yourself tough, though you'll burn and burn with shame and self-pity every night as you lie alone, awake, and miserable in your bed. You bottle everything up, slowly building your rage, until you get a half-legit excuse to let it out in an explosion that you _will_ regret. You _will_ feel guilty about it later, because you _do _enjoy the little things in life. But you will refuse to apologize because you're too good for that, aren't you, and you would rather die than give anybody the satisfaction of seeing you _vulnerable_ and _weak_, even though that's all you really are. _Vulnerable_, _weak_, and _sad_."

There was a short silence, and I took a breath. I studied Con and Blaze, and took some satisfaction in the fact that I had indeed rattled them. Angry tears glistened in Blaze's eyes, and Con looked as tense and unmoving as a statue of Atlas carrying the world.

I hadn't called anybody out like that since. . .Bianca Drake, at the beginning of last year. Having been "popular" in middle school, she'd set out to conquer high school by being bitch to anyone and everyone who openly showed their distaste of her i.e: me and most of the people I could call a friend.

Wait. . .no. I never really called her out about it--I just caught a wild skunk and put it in her locker.

Then threatened to _really_ make her high school life hell if she didn't get over herself and stop being a ditzy bitch.

We're frenemies now.

So, actually, I'd never really called anybody out that viciously before.

A part of me felt a bit guilty, but the more dominant part felt oddly satisfied. They'd tried to kill me numerous times. They deserved a wake-up call.

It was Con who broke the silence. He pushed himself away from the wall and looked down at me, face carefully blank, speaking, softly, slowly, trying to keep his voice under control.

"They're _going_ to break you," he said. "No matter how long it takes, no matter how _much_ it takes, they _will_ break you. I hope you resist, because that will make it all the more painful. And I hope I'm there when that stupid rebellious streak in you finally crumbles and dies."

Notice he never said I was wrong about him? I did.

My lips curled in another smirk. "I hope you're there when I bust outta this place," I replied, just as softly. "I can't wait to see your face. The horror in your eyes as you realize _you _are the one who's going to get blamed for it will be something I'll treasure 'till the day I die."

He twitched, and I could just see the incredible restraint it took to keep from hurting me in some way. I knew he wanted to. I was asking for it. But, as I guessed he would, he didn't hit me, or kick me, or anything. He just couldn't bring himself to give me the satisfaction of knowing I could get to him.

Con turned abruptly, abandoning a silently trembling Blaze, and made to stalk out of the room when the door flew open before he even touched it.

Now it was _my_ turn to be rattled.

Standing in the doorway was Sy.

I expected him to look different. I _wanted_ him to look different, so I could delude myself into believing he hadn't really done this to me, that this was a different person watching me with carefully guarded eyes.

But no. He looked exactly the same. Dyed black hair, sapphire-blue eyes, flawlessly fair skin. He looked. . .so. . ._familiar_, so much like the kid that'd cared enough to be more concerned for my well-being than about our disappearing, so much like the kid that'd pulled me up and along when I'd been laughing too hard to run, so much like the kid that'd said he'd been more scared for me in the week or so he'd known me than he'd ever been for anybody else in his entire life.

But not two minutes after that last thing, he was knocking me out and making sure I ended up _here_.

I clenched my fists to keep the rest of me from trembling. As of right now, I hated Sy. Hated him. Hated everything about him. Everything from his secondhand shoes to his dyed hair to the loose thread hanging from his sleeve. It was eerily easy to build up enough rage to get my hair crackling with electricity.

The guarded look vanished from his eyes (which I now hated) and a half-smile spread across Sy's lips (which I now hated). He watched me for a second with all the cockiness of a successful traitor before flicking his gaze up to Con, who'd stopped his attempted exit from the room.

"Already getting to ya?" he asked lightly. I saw Con square his shoulders, and Sy laughed once (a sound that I now hated). "I should've reminded you that she doesn't take to everybody as well as she took to me."

_Bastard. Jackass. Dick. Son of a bitch._ Colorful obscenities roiled through my mind as I glared at Sy, hating him with every fiber of my being.

Sy stepped into the room, leaving the door open as if he expected Con to leave. I'm sure he came close, but finally, he just shut the door again. To Sy, he said, "You escaped your mom?"

Anger flashed over Sy's face. "Tch. She only wanted to be sure I could still test out for next month."

_Next month? Test out?_ My hatred of Sy faltered for a second as I tried to make sense of the words. What was he talking about? Was something happening next month? Something that had Itex so intent on getting me back that even _Sy_ had come up with a plan to capture me?

"Heya, Spark." I slowly lifted my eyes to look up at Sy, who had come to Blaze's side and casually dropped an arm over her shoulder, using her as an armrest as I myself had done to so many of my own friends back home in Colorado. He tilted his head and smiled down at me. "Have a nice nap?"

I briefly considered not speaking to him, then deemed that as too childish. "Have a nice time of stabbing me in the back?" I asked sweetly.

No emotion flickered through his eyes. Nothing to show he had any guilt, any remorse, any. . ._anything_. Nothing to show I'd ever had any effect on him. Nothing to show he'd ever cared about me even a little.

He chuckled and stepped away from Blaze, coming closer to me. He looked down at me with a cocky smirk on his face, hands in his pockets, and I looked down, staring at my feet. _Don't say anything. Don't let him know you're hurt. Don't let him know you're just waiting for him to leave so you can cry and beat yourself up for believing all his crap. Don't. . ._

"Oh, come _on_, Spark," he finally said, sounding slightly amused. "You didn't _really_ think I liked you, did you?"

I tensed, refusing to respond any other way. I watched as one knee came down to the floor and sensed Sy's eyes on me. I heard his sleeve rustle as he raised his hand, reaching for me. . .

Clenching my fists and bracing myself against the back wall of the room, I bunched my legs and snapped them out into Sy's torso as hard as I could.

I've always been a better kicker than a puncher, stronger in the legs than the arms. But I was still surprised when he flew back nine feet, all the way across the room, cracking his head on the black wall just below the one-way mirror; Con's eyebrows shot up in alarm and Blaze snapped out of her trance and whirled, a fearful look dancing in her eyes.

For a second Sy just sat straight against the wall, eyes shut tight and mouth pressed into a thin line, an expression of barely-internalized agony; then he moved as if to stand up and let out a low hiss, slumping back against the wall and clutching his ribs.

I never thought I'd get so much joy out of causing someone pain.

"Don't you _dare_ try to touch me," I snapped at him, glowering as angrily as I could, trying to convey all of my twisted emotions into as few words as possible.

"I think I heard a rib crack," Con said, holding out a hand to help Sy up. He ignored it and struggled to his feet on his own, stumbling slightly once upright. Then his eyes found me and I noticed that there was a fair smattering of ruby red in the blue I used to find so intriguing.

"Dylan. . ." Blaze tried to say, her tone concerned, but Sy ignored her, too, as he staggered back across the room to where I still sat, chin raised defiantly and bound legs raised slightly in defense, awaiting whatever it was he was going to try to do to me.

Sy lifted his shoe-encased foot and brought it down over my own sock-clad feet, slamming them down and pinning them to the floor rather painfully. Then, as I rocked forward from the movement, he reached down and grabbed a fistful of my shirt, pulling me up to my feet before letting me go and drawing back his hand and. . .

_Crack!_

My head snapped to the side as Sy backhanded me, and I nearly fell over, my hands' desperate clawing at the wall the only thing keeping me upright. I did slide halfway down the wall, though, before I regained my senses and braced my back against the wall to stop myself from falling to the floor. My cheek stung so bad I wanted to cry out, but I would never give him that satisfaction. Instead, I kept my breathing was forcibly even, and I did my best to keep myself from visibly shaking.

"Touch me again," I said, head still turned, voice soft, steady, and dangerous, "and I will kill you."

"I should say the same thing to you," Sy said, finally betraying some emotion. He sounded pissed. And when I turned my head to glare at him, eyes and cheek stinging, I saw he looked pissed, too. _Good_.

"Let's get out of here," Con said lazily, nodding his head toward the door. "We've done enough for today."

Blaze stepped forward and lightly touched Sy's shoulder. He scowled at me and allowed her to turn him around; then, wincing, he moved gingerly toward the door, Blaze sticking to his side like static cling. Just before they left the room, Sy glanced back at me, and I threw him the filthiest look I could muster. He rolled his eyes and looked away.

Con was last to the door, and as it closed behind him, he said eight words that brought about an icy-cold, pupil-dilating, hyperventilation-invoking fear in me, a kind of primeval and instinctual fear I hadn't experienced for ten long years.

"They have to start testing her soon anyway."

* * *

this chapter was fun to write. all wonderfully epic and emotionally trying and whatknot. was it fun to read? or is "fun" the wrong word?


	38. Chapter 38

sorry about the delay. but i had things to wonder about.

i was looking through my reviews the other day and wondered just how many of you have kept with this story since the beginning. or how many of you are reading without reviewing. or if any of you have stopped reading because it just won't end. whichever you are, i love you all.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**38. super-special-awesome overload mode**_

_Where the heck are they?_

I let the thin, gauzy white curtain fall back over the window in the room I'd shared with Spark, Nudge, and Angel the previous night. It gave me a good view of the street, but nearly two hours after they'd left for their walk, Spark and Sy hadn't returned.

I know. Instinct had already kicked in with loud red warning bells.

But not wanting to alert any of the others--they'd been having too much fun relaxing and acting like normal kids for once--I'd kept my mouth shut. Momentarily. Until I couldn't stand it anymore and pulled Fang out of an increasingly competitive card game called Phase 10 to spill my guts out about the ever-worrisome Spark.

He blinked when I mentioned they'd been gone an hour already. We'd stepped into the kitchen to avoid being overheard, and now Fang's eyes flicked to the clock on the microwave. Then he looked back at me and asked, "If you're that worried, why didn't you say anything?"

I shrugged, at a loss for any other response. "I don't know. Do you think something could've happened? To Spark and Sy?"

Fang paused, staring absently at the countertop I was leaning against as he thought about it. After a few moments, he slowly shook his head. "Maybe. I mean, Spark's tough, but I don't know about that Sy kid. . ."

"You think he's weird too?" I asked, one of my eyebrows rising inquisitively. I'd let him slide for saving our lives, but ever since we'd met him, something about Sy had screamed suspicion. Despite the fact Spark trusted him so completely. . .or was it _because_ Spark trusted him?

Fang shrugged a shoulder, then crossed the room to the doorway between the kitchen and living room. He stuck his head out into the living room and motioned for somebody to join us. I shot him a half-alarmed, half-questioning glance when one of Spark's cousins walked in with a slightly confused expression.

"What's up, guys?" he asked warily, smile fading as his hazelly eyes darted between me and Fang, between the grim sets of our faces. "You. . .need something?"

"Um. . .not exactly," I said evasively. "But. . .do you know where, uh, Nikki is?" It felt weird to call her anything but Spark, but not nearly as weird as not knowing which cousin it was I was speaking to. Cody, or Beck? I was completely clueless as to which was which.

"Didn't she and Sy go for a walk?" he asked, scratching the back of his head.

"They've been gone a while," Fang said shortly. "Is there anywhere you think she might've gone?"

"I doubt it," Spark's cousin said uncertainly. "She told us not to tell anybody she was back in the city. And her parents aren't even here, they left right after she did. Why do you. . ." His eyes widened as he saw the worry cross my face. "You don't think. . .something _happened_. . .to her?"

"Uh. . ." I glanced at Fang nervously and he just shrugged. Spark's cousin paled.

"No," he whispered weakly. "Don't. . .say something bad happened."

"Don't freak out, Beck," I said quickly, guessing at the name and hoping I was right. "I'm sure she's just. . ."

"Um, I'm Cody." I felt my face heat up a bit in embarrassment, but was soon distracted as Cody let out a tense breath, running a hand through his hair. He suddenly looked way older than sixteen as anxiety altered his expression.

"Are you. . .okay?" Fang asked slowly, glancing at me questioningly.

"Well. . .ah, I don't know," Cody groaned, running a hand through his bleached-out hair. "Look, don't tell my brother, but the truth is. . .I worry about her. Nikki. . .she's like our little sister, y'know? Any time anybody says something might be up with her, I get all weird and tense and stuff. I know she can take care of herself, especially 'cuz of the way she is, but. . ." He trailed off, shrugging listlessly.

I looked at Fang again before asking, "What d'you mean by 'the way she is'?"

Cody blinked, then glanced back over his shoulder to check if anybody was coming. Then he looked down and lowered his voice. "Well, you know. The wings."

"You know?" Fang and I were both taken aback.

"Of course I know. I've known since I was thirteen. They were visiting and we got in a water-balloon fight and she was wearing white and I hit her in the back and. . .you know what, that doesn't matter. Ever since I knew she wasn't. . .well, _human_, I. . ." Cody shook his head and trailed off again, at a loss for words.

"Hey. I doubt she's in any trouble," I lied. "I probably jumped the gun. Don't get all worked up. She's probably on her way back right now."

* * *

_"NOOOO!" _I screamed, pitching my voice so loud it felt like my throat was about to tear right down the esophagus. I lashed out with my feet--idiots hadn't strapped them down--and sent a silver tray of surgical tools flying across the room. One of the two lab geeks in the room ducked to avoid getting stabbed by a flying syringe of electric-green liquid, and the other narrowly dodging a beheading by scalpel. _"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME! I'M NOT GONNA BE YOUR PINCUSHION ANYMORE! LEAVE ME ALONE!"_

For a badass tomboy who avoids pretty much everything remotely girly like it's the plague ('cuz it is), I can screech pretty damn loud.

"Oh, my _God_, shut her _up!!_" The whitecoat who'd nearly gotten hit by the syringe--a redhead who I call Tweedledee--clapped his hands over his ears, yelling so his colleague could hear him over my increasingly shrill and barely coherent cries. I hadn't been waiting long before a couple of scientists had come to collect me and take me to the laboratories. Since then, I'd realized that there were three major whitecoats who were to carry out all my testing: the two men here in the room with me, and a woman (I call her Alice) who'd stepped out a half-hour ago to run some blood the three of them had managed to wrangle from my veins.

"_You_ shut her up!" the second whitecoat--a brunette who, in keeping with the Wonderland theme, I call Tweedledum--shouted, jerking out of the way as my flailing legs kicked over a heart monitor. The thin colored cords that had connected me to it pulled and snapped, the screen flatlining. "I already used all my sedatives trying to get the blood!"

"Just use mine!" Tweedledee snapped back, flinging a syringe across the room. "And strap her legs down, too!"

Tempers between Tweedledum and Tweedledee flared high when Alice left the room--their male competitiveness for her attention had gotten really boring really fast, which was why I'd taken to the screeching when it was just them and me in any given situation. Screaming is _not _high on the list for what a young lab grunt wants in a patient.

And young lab grunts are exactly what Tweedledum and Tweedledee were. Like, early to mid-twenties, so obviously green to the Itex staff they were forced to do all the boring stuff, like drawing blood and holding me down as Alice checked my vitals or shot me up with glowing crap that made me feel all stoned. Plus, they still called me "her" and "she," something you didn't get when being tested by the more experienced doctors.

The door opened a crack, then shut as another kicked object clanged against it. "What's going _on_ in there?!" came the frantic cry. Alice had returned. "Haven't you run the next test _yet_?"

"She's freaking out, we can't get close to her!" Tweedledee called, crouching near the door. "Run and get somebody!"

"Oh, you're being ridiculous! Let me in!" Alice strode into the room and I struck out with my feet, but there was nothing left for me to kick. Unless any of them got too close.

Alice folded her arms and glared at me with her dark eyes. She was an Indian woman of unfair beauty, and had a British accent, which was why the Tweedles kept vying for her attention. "If you would just cooperate, we wouldn't have to sedate you for every test," she said. "And if you don't have to be sedated for every test, you won't have a headache later. So if I were you I'd. . ."

"Probably be acting the same way," I snapped back. "Just get it through your thick skulls! I don't want to be here and I'm not going to cooperate at all whatsoever! So just give up and get the hell away before I have to hurt you!"

"Oh, like _you_ could hurt _me_?" Alice asked haughtily, pulling out a syringe of neon-orange liquid.

"Don't try me!" I snarled, clenching my fists. Crackles of electricity danced over my skin and the lights flickered. The three whitecoats shared identical looks of momentary fright.

My patience--and control--was wearing thin. Normally, when I get stressed or annoyed, I become very aware of the electrical side to my power. However, under normal circumstances--an infuriating sibling, an idiotic bully--I was able to quell the urge to electrocute somebody.

This was not a normal circumstance.

So the quelling of the urge to electrocute somebody was becoming more and more difficult.

Alice shook herself. To the Tweedles, she said, "Her powers don't matter. We need to inject her with this newest serum." She held up the syringe of orange gunk. "Dr. Newell's orders."

"But she's. . .freaking out," Tweedledum said lamely. "We can't get close to her."

"I don't care _how_ you incarcerate her, just do it."

Tweedledee steeled himself before taking a step toward me. I swung my leg and would've slammed him in the ribs if he hadn't dodged. Tweedledum took advantage of my attack and came around to pin the straightened leg to the table. I jerked and nearly threw him off, but he put his weight into it and overpowered my right leg. Tweedledee lunged for my left leg and slammed it to the table as well.

"G-get off!" I shouted, twisting and struggling to get my legs free. I strained at my arm bonds as well, but to no avail. I was now successfully incarcerated; Alice, with an infuriatingly smug look on her face, flipped the cap off her syringe and stepped toward my left arm. I arched my back and tried to break free before she could get to me.

_"Get away from me! Get the hell away!"_

Alice placed a cold gloved hand on my elbow and twisted my arm to expose the underside to the ceiling.

_"NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!"_ God, screaming _hurts_. My throat, my ears. I never knew I could be so _loud_.

"Oh, shut up," Alice snapped, then stabbed me with the needle and injected me with glowing orange liquid.

I inhaled sharply as a soft tingling raced up my arm. My fingers curled inward and my vision started to go shaky. The lights flickered off, then insanely bright as everything else went fuzzy and quiet.

* * *

Both male whitecoats--their names being Dr. Macmillan and Dr. North--jumped away from the experiment's legs as flickers of electric discharge shocked them. The two of them--along with their female associate, Dr. Stadtfield--watched with ever-widening eyes as the drug took effect.

The experiment started to seize, electricity sizzling over her body in visible red bolts like something out of a cartoon. She started thrashing so violently the straps holding her down on the table snapped, and all three scientists' eyes went wide. What was she going to do? Was she even conscious? Would she try to escape? Should they call for help?

As soon as the thick leather straps fell from the experiment's body, the red lightning decreased in size and frequency, retreating into the occasional flicker of light from her fingertips. The experiment's seizing slowed, and soon she just lay quietly upon the table, barely breathing, eyes closed.

Macmillan was first to react. Running a hand through his red spiked hair, he took a breath and stepped toward the experiment.

"What the _hell_ did you inject her with?" he heard North mumble at Stadtfield. The Indian woman said something back, but Macmillan didn't catch it. He was at the experiment's side, inspecting her curiously.

"She appears to be unconscious," he announced. "If your drug was fast-acting, it has no effect on the subj--AHH!"

Macmillan's words seamlessly flowed into a high yelp as the experiment's eyelids flew open, the girl herself sitting upright in one quick motion. It wasn't just the motion that had startled him--more that the fact that her eyes were completely dark. A deep, whiteless expanse of the darkest blue, with barely the hint of a pupil in the direct center. Macmillan automatically took a few hasty steps back.

The experiment blinked once before an evil smirk curled over her lips.

"Ha," she said. In one lightning-fast movement, she sprang off the examination table and to the door of the small room. Once there, she pointed her palm at the doorknob. A zigzagging bolt of red electricity arced from her skin, blasting the metal knob and forcing the door to open outwards, opposite of what it was supposed to do. At the threshold, the experiment looked back into the room at the scientists, her smile absolutely and insanely predatory. "You're scared of me. _You should be_."

And then she ran.

Stadtfield was first to snap from the trance this time. A look of horror passed over her face. "Macmillan! Why didn't you grab her? We're going to be killed for this!!"

She wasn't far off the mark. Former employees of Itex's inner companies didn't exist. It was like the Mafia--once you were in, the only way out was when Death came a-knockin'.

Macmillan shook himself before dashing out the door after their escaped experiment. Stadtfield wasn't far behind him, but her stilettos were making it much slower going for her. North stayed in the exam room, keying in the access code to the building-wide intercom system.

_"Attention employees: an uncooperative experiment has escaped. Human-avian hybrid, fire-colored hair, in uniform, currently running on effect from thirty milligrams of hypermaladrine. Her capture is necessary and vital. Thank you."_

* * *

Running in slippery dress socks down countless white tiled hallways was fun. Almost as fun as blasting the door had been.

She reluctantly willed her legs to stop and slid about four feet into the next hallway, whereupon she had a choice of going right or left. Having been unconscious when they'd dragged her in, Subject Five of the Avian group narrowed her deep blue-black eyes, a flicker of worry crossing her mind. The thought soon fluttered away, though, as her ears picked up a distant _slap, slap, slap_ of flat-soled shoes over the tiled floor. They sounded as if they were coming from the right, so she went left, once again running in a literal blur of speed.

The orange drug had changed her. All of her senses were on high alert, and when she wasn't moving, it felt like her muscles were just vibrating with power, yearning to run, fly, punch, kick, do _something_. She felt every flaw in every tile she stepped on, heard every distinct _whoosh_ as she zipped past another open hall, another open door. Saw each flicker of the cheap fluorescent lights, heard their faint humming. Felt the electricity that ran through the walls, powering the entire building.

"Spark?!"

Subject Five stumbled to a stop as she recognized the word. . .her name. The name she'd been given at the age of sixteen months, when she'd first given somebody a minor electrocution. That name, spoken in a voice she also recognized, a voice that filled her with hatred and betrayal.

Subject Two of the Fish group was standing in an open doorway, watching her with wide sapphire eyes. He looked the same as the last time she'd seen him, with one change: instead of black shirt and gray overshirt, he was wearing bandages over his bare chest with the gray overshirt thrown on top.

The memory of causing him pain satisfied her a bit. As did the look on his face. Surprised. Nervous. Scared, almost?

"Hi." Subject Five smirked, dark eyes glittering. "You're afraid of me."

Subject Two blinked and shook himself. "They really did it, then. Gave you hypermaladrine."

"Hah. You bet," she replied. "Catch me if you can!"

Then she ran. Even faster than before, so fast she frequently had to pay attention so as not to run into walls. She could hear Subject Two following her, plus the sounds of others in the distance. The whitecoats were looking for her, scrambling the forces to find her before she escaped.

_You need an outer window,_ she thought. _Blast through it and get out of this place._

Dimly, she heard Subject Two shouting.

_"Get the hell back here before they call the dogs!!"_

_Oooh, scary. _Dogs!_ Four-legged little _devils_, those beasts! They distract you with friendly tail-wagging and affectionate licking before they make their move and rip out your throat!!_ Subject Five laughed quietly to herself. _Like a stupid _dog_ could take me dow--_

"AHH!"

Subject Five went flying backwards, landing on her tailbone and sliding along the floor a good six feet. She clutched her forehead, where a thick red welt had suddenly sprung up. "_Oooowww! _What'd you _do_ to me, you bitch?!"

"Hmph. You've got a hard head." The tall, sixteen-year-old girl with long silver hair came out from around the corner and looked distastefully down on Subject Five. "You're lucky a broom handle was all I could find, you featherbrained little wench," she said with disgust, shouldering said broom handle.

Subject Five rubbed her forehead and glared up at the girl, who she assumed was part of the Fish group, most likely Subject One. Her eyes _were_ red, after all. And even if she didn't look _remarkably_ like Subject Two, they bore some similar characteristics. Slender frame, pale skin, fragile hands. Unlike Subject Five, the silver-haired girl wasn't in the black shorts, black shirt uniform of Chicago experiments--rather, she was wearing tight jeans, a white tank top with a black half-sweater, and four-inch _high heels._

"Ooh. Haven't been called a wench in a while," Subject Five said as she got to her feet. The pain in her head was already retreating, as was the mark from the broom. "Get out of my way."

"Make me," the girl snarled, her eyes suddenly dancing with fury. She gripped the broom handle tightly and held it up, ready to fight. Subject Five smirked and started to curl her fingers, preparing to draw on electricity, when a slight breath of air passed through the hallway.

"A-A-Ariel!" Subject Two's voice stuttered, sounding absolutely surprised. He'd caught up.

Both girls stopped, Subject Five half-turning so she could have both fish hybrids in her line of vision. Subject Two's hair was all messed up from running, and his chest was heaving. His broken ribs were probably making it painful to move.

"Dylan?" The silver-haired girl straightened up, blinking in surprise. Then, sounding taken aback, she asked, "What. . .what'd you do to your _hair?_ It's. . ._black!_"

_No time for this. _Subject Five raised her hand, fingers alight with lightning, and was about to toss a handful of electricity at the silver-haired girl when Subject Two lunged at her and grabbed her wrist, yanking her arm back and causing the shot to go awry. She'd just slammed her elbow into his stomach to get him to let go when Subject One was there, cracking her broom handle over Subject Five's head again.

This time, Subject Five was knocked unconscious by the blow.

* * *

"Hmph." Ariel took a breath and brushed some hair out of her face to get a good look at the bird-girl on the floor. She'd passed out, crumpled on the floor like a pathetic rag doll. She lifted her ruby-red eyes from the floor to search for Dylan, ready for the praise of taking care of the experiment.

But he wasn't looking at her, which put a little dent in her pride. He was leaning against the wall, face contorted in pain and one hand clutching at the bandages that were wrapped around him. His breath came in short, irregular hisses.

Other than the hair, he looked pretty much the same as when she'd last seen him a few weeks ago, when she'd been brought here to Chicago. Slender. Pretty much all muscle. A quiet, kind air about him. Dark blue eyes.

For Ariel, that spelled one four-letter word: H-O-T-T.

Ariel stepped over the bird-girl and went to his side; even in heels she was just barely as tall as him. "Dylan?" she inquired, her voice much kinder than it had been when she'd been speaking to the bird-girl. (It always sounded like this when she talked to him.)

He flinched at her voice. "I-I'm. . .fine."

_Aw, he's trying to hide his pain, like a real man._ "No, you're not," she said firmly. She reached into her pocket, where she kept a cell phone. She dialed a number and, as she waited, asked, "What the hell happened and how can I fix it?"

"You can't. Broken. . .ribs. Ow."

Ariel frowned, confused. None of them had ever tried fixing broken bones before, but she was sure she'd be able to do it. Especially if she had access to water. The person she'd called finally picked up, but for a second she ignored him. "How'd they break?"

"She kicked me," he replied shortly, nodding toward the unconscious bird-girl. He took a breath, winced again, and then stood up straight. Focusing still-blue eyes on her, Dylan asked, "What are you doing here?"

Ariel raised one perfect eyebrow at him. "Don't you remember? I. . ."

_"Why the hell'd you call me if you're not going to say anything?!" _Blaze's voice screeched from the cell phone. Ariel winced and almost dropped the phone.

"Oh, have a fit!" she snapped. Ariel strode over to the nearest door, heels clacking loudly on the tile, and looked inside a room. "I'm in the south experiment caging hallway. Dylan and I caught the freak."

_"Is she unconscious?"_ Blaze asked.

"Yeah. I whacked her with a broom, I don't know how long she'll be out. Just get over here and take her back to her cell."

_"Fine."_ Blaze hung up and Ariel pocketed the phone before turning to Dylan again. He'd moved nearer to the bird-girl, looking down at her. His hair shadowed his face so she couldn't read his expression.

"Dylan." He looked up. "How long have you been here? In the Factory, I mean?"

"Couple hours," he answered shortly. "What about you?"

"Couple weeks. Chicago's running a couple comparison tests between us, Blaze and Constantine, and two of the cats from Italy. I thought you knew that."

Dylan shook his head before gesturing at the bird-girl on the floor. "I've been trying to get Spark and the rest of the avians to come here. Con screwed up my plan and we only ended up with Spark."

"Where are the others, then?"

"A safe house about ten miles from here. We don't know how we're gonna get them yet."

Ariel slowly smirked. "Bet I could help with that."

* * *

"Uggghhh. . ."

I groaned as I sat upright, hand automatically going to my head. . .which wasn't hurting. I opened my eyes into the artificially brightness of my cell, but didn't get a blinding headache one would usually associate with getting knocked out. To the contrary, I felt really good. Awesome. More rested and energetic and alert than I'd felt in weeks.

_What. . .what _was _that stuff?_ I wondered, trying to remember what had happened. I remembered the Indian doctor jabbing me with a needle, and I remembered the tingling sensation the orange drug made as it raced through my veins, but beyond that. . .

I noticed I wasn't on the floor, as I had been the first time I'd awoken in this god-forsaken cell. Instead, I was on a cot, a thin mattress with white sheets and a cheap gray flannel blanket.

There were no clocks in the room, and they'd taken my watch, so I had no way of telling just how long I'd been out. Hours? Days? My spirit sank as I thought about Max and the others. They'd probably guessed something had happened to me by now. Were they looking for me? Were they stupid enough to try and find this place to break in?

My door suddenly opened and I looked up. Con strode inside, with two boys I didn't recognize right on his tail. Con came to stand a few feet from my cot, arms crossed, the two boys looming menacingly behind him.

"Ariel did a nice job," he commented. "You've been out for a day and a half."

_Shit. Who's Ariel? _I wondered. A brief memory flickered to the surface and I remembered that that was the name of the first successful fish hybrid. Was she here? And was she the one who'd knocked me out? All I got was a blur. . .

"Well, thank her for me," I said brightly. "I feel great. I think it was that orange stuff. Got any more of it?"

Con rolled his eyes, then looked back at the boys behind him. "Let's go."

"Aw, you're not leavin', are ya?" I asked innocently. Then I noticed the boys were moving _toward_ me, not away.

"Spark, meet Joey and Frankie," Con said lightly. "You can consider them your escorts until the hypermaladrine* is out of your system."

"Ha! No way." I smiled in disbelief, shaking my head. "You need Italian muscle to drag me around. I didn't even _know_ the Mafia lent out their kids," I said sarcastically.

Joey and Frankie weren't tall and skinny, like me or any of the others, so I crossed bird off the list of potential animal genes. Rather, they were just plain _big_. Thickset, obviously strong, dark-haired. . .and I'd guessed of Italian descent. One had short hair spiked into a fohawk, and the other's hung to his ears, flipped out at the ends. The corner of my mouth twitched in a frown. I wouldn't be able to shake these two easily, that was for sure.

_Hm. . .unless I got some of that orange stuff again. Hypermaladrine? I'll have to remember that. Maybe there'll be a chance to steal some. I could probably break outta this place if I get a hold of it._

Joey and Frankie came up on either side of me and grabbed my arms, yanking me out of my cot and onto my feet. They then proceeded to escort me after Con and out into the white hallways of the Factory.

I tried to babble randomly in a Nudge-like manner in hopes of annoying Con, Joey, and Frankie, but none of them paid me any mind. Not even when I started comparing Ryan Seacrest to Jesus. (And I was _sure_ that'd get them to tell me to shut up!)

I was forcefully led to an interrogation room incredibly similar to my cell, if a bit smaller. In the viewing room were Blaze, a girl with silver hair identical to Sy's, and Sy himself. The girls glared at me venomously, and Sy just ignored me.

"After you, Spark," Con said, opening the door to the room and bowing mockingly. I guessed my silent Italian bodyguards would become suddenly active if I tried to kick him, so I did nothing as they pushed/followed me into my newest interrogation.

There was a table, two chairs, and a man. He was wearing a white coat, had a clipboard on the table in front of him, and had sandy-brown hair and mustache.

Joey and Frankie sat me down in one of the chairs at the table, then took up posts on either side of me, making absolutely sure I couldn't escape. It made me feel claustrophobic, but I didn't show it.

"Hello," the man in the white coat said, smiling at me.

I said nothing. Just looked at him like, _Are you kidding?_

The whitecoat sighed. "Ah well. There'll be time to talk later. Right now I just need you to answer some questions."

Again: _Are you kidding?_

"What's your name?" the guy asked, taking a pen from his pocket.

_Are you. . ._wait. I could make this fun. So, being one to always take the fun answer, I took a deep breath.

"My name is Ashley Blair Crystal Doris Ezrela Fayana Gertrude Holly Iris Joan Kaliska Levana May Netis Orenda Pollyama Querida Raine Shirley Twyla Ulani Virginia Wilhelmina Xenia Yarin Zorina Alphabetticacious Juniorette."

I could sense my bodyguards trembling with concealed laughter, and now the man was staring at me blankly. I grinned cockily.

"People call me Alpha," I said. "But, since I don't really classify you in the term of 'people,' I will only respond to you if you use my full name."

He put his pen down on the table and touched a hand to his forehead in irritation. "That's not the right answer."

"Who says? It's a name. There's no _wrong_ answer."

The whitecoat sighed. "Perhaps I should start over." He put his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together before trying once again to smile at me.

"Spark, I'm Doctor Julian Newell. When you were little, I was your caretaker. You called me Jay."

* * *

*just so you know, hypermaladrine isn't an actual drug. i don't think. if it is, i doubt it's a bright orange liquid that makes you all crazy-fast and stuff.


	39. Chapter 39

have i mentioned lately how much fun it is to write this story? it just gets better and better.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_The whitecoat sighed. "Perhaps I should start over." He put his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together before trying once again to smile at me._

_"Spark, I'm Doctor Julian Newell. When you were little, I was your caretaker. You called me Jay."_

_**39. i REALLY know how to push peoples' buttons, don't i?**_

My muscles tightened reflexively. The words seemed to stab at my memories in hope of finding something interesting, like the way a kid pokes a stick in a gopher hole. A few wordless images drifted across my mind, but nothing too substantial. Guess Shadow's memory-pull wasn't as in-depth as I'd originally thought.

_Forget it. Just answer. You're a teenager. Think of something annoying._

I pulled a face of slight confusion, then let it go. "Huh," I said. "Well, nice ta meet ya, Jay. You're gonna hafta excuse me if I don't remember ya. 'Mazin' what trauma does to a brain, innit?"

Newell's smile flickered, his pale green eyes momentarily revealing the inner frustration and annoyance that seemed the one constant in these evil scientist-y people whenever I was around.

"Absolutely marvelous," he said in a deadpan. With an irritable breath, he found his pen and consulted his clipboard again. "Now, I'm going to ask you some questions--"

"Okay," I said immediately, knowing I'd interrupted.

Newell looked at me for a second, then started again. "And I want you to answer as--"

"Okay," I said again.

"As accurately as--"

"Okay."

"Possible. Is that--"

"Okay."

"Going to be a problem?"

"Yes."

Joey and Frankie, my bodyguards, were trying to not laugh again. _Maybe they're nice. Or maybe I'm just really, really funny. Or maybe they just hate Newell. Or maybe they think I'm stupid._

Newell stared at me again, apparently gleaned nothing from my calm, serene expression, and then asked the first question:

"How old are you?"

Dumb question. "Four hundred and eighty-six million, give or take. I'm not exactly sure 'cuz nobody's bothered to tell me what day it is," I said casually, with a slight shrug. Then I paused. "Wait. . .you meant _seconds_, right?"

Rolling his eyes, he scribbled something down on his clipboard. "How did you escape the armored car?"

"What armored car?" I asked stupidly, even though I knew perfectly well which one.

"You know which one," he said flatly.

"No, man, I totally just blank out before the millennium. 1900's? Gone." I shook my head and sighed. "I think it was all the drinkin' an' stuff I did New Year's Eve of 1999. What armored car?"

(_No_, I didn't _really_ drink on the New Year's Eve of 1999. I was what, six? Please.)

"Stop playing dumb."

"I ain't playin', Jay," I said sadly. "Though, hypothetically, if I _did_ escape from a armored car, I'd prolly just tell myself, hey, you can shoot _lightning_ from yer _hands_. So, like, _do it._ And I would, and boom, I'm out."

"Fine. Next question then," Newell snapped. "How do you make lightning?"

"Hm," I said, trying to fight a smirk. I stared off over the whitecoat's shoulder as if deep in thought. "Well, first I say something really sinister. Like, 'Today, vegetables; tomorrow, the WORLD!'* Then I laugh evilly and assume the disco position, whereupon lightning flashes through the sky and I get the cue to laugh evilly again. It's quite fun, I should do it more often."

Newell paused. "Either your I.Q. has quartered since you were five or you're just trying to screw me."

"I'd _never _do that!" I exclaimed in mock surprise. "You're, like, _old!_ Like, like, _thirty years old_ old! That's statutory rape!!"

_That_ sure got people laughin'. Joey and Frankie let out short chuckles before attempting to compose themselves, while on the _other_ side of the mirror laughter roared so loud from the viewing room that I wondered if it really was just Con, Blaze, Ariel, and. . ._him_ in there. Perhaps some curious little lab geeks had dropped by to watch Newell's epic demise into incompetence.

Newell let out a humorless laugh of disbelief and leaned back in his chair, throwing his pen down on the tabletop in frustration. "This is where I wonder what I did wrong with you, Spark!"

"Oh, it was many things, I'm sure," I said cheerfully. "Parents always screw up most with the first-borns."

"You weren't the first-born," Newell said, rolling his eyes.

"But I am your favorite, aren't I?" I countered innocently, tilting my head in a little-girl fashion. "You said it all the time when I still _lived _in this shithole you call a lab."

"_I _know what happened," Newell suddenly said, a look of dawning comprehension washing over his face. "It's Batchelder's kids. They've rubbed off on you, haven't they?"

"Oh, _hell_ no," I cried exasperatedly. "I'm _way _more fun than they are. And I doubt any of them are creative enough to improv twenty-six names on the spot like I did just a few minutes ago."

"Do you set aside a day every week to think up ways to be dumb?" the whitecoat sneered. "Every Thursday for cookies and cider?"

"No!" I said refutably. "Wednesdays, for Brisk and crème brûlée."

That little remark was just a little too far, apparently.

Newell shoved the table; the legs scraped across the floor before the table's edge slammed me in the middle so hard my chair tipped over backwards. Joey and Frankie leaped out of the way, cursing in Italian as the back of my head cracked hard against the floor. Pretty black spots danced across my vision and my head went all achy and woozy as Joey and Frankie, with surprising care, picked up the chair (with me still in it) and set it upright.

One of them put a hand on my shoulder so I wouldn't fall forward out of the chair. As I tried to re-orient myself, he whispered something to me in soft Italian. The words translated slowly in my brain as waves of dull pain radiated from the back of my skull.

_You didn't deserve that._

"Is violence the only way to get you to shut up and listen?" Newell demanded.

"No," I said slowly, blinking hard to banish the swirling spots blurring my vision. "Ask your stupid little lap-dogs, I don't even listen then."

"Make. No. Mistake, Spark," the scientist practically growled. "You can't play dumb with me. I created you."

"_Please_ don't say 'I brought you into this world, and I can take you out,' " I groaned, starting to shake my head but stopping when it sent my temples throbbing. "I may just cry."

"_I _was the one who altered your genes so your intelligence would rise above _anything _your pathetic excuses for parents would possibly hope to pass on," he snarled. I tensed and glared at him. _No he did not._

"_I _was the one who taught you to read and talk, fly and walk. I taught you eight languages in two years. I taught you how to control atomic movement and I defended you when you accidentally electrocuted a lab tech to death. You are _my _responsibility, because you are _my_ experiment. _You belong to me._"

With frustrating calm, I asked tightly, "And the relevance of that is what, exactly?"

I swear I could hear his sanity shattering. With an angry cry, Newell grabbed up his clipboard and stood, his chair falling back and clattering to the floor.

"I give up on you!" he yelled at me. "Good luck with life, Spark! However long it's going to last!!"

"Good luck to you too!" I shouted as he strode from the room. "I hope you shrivel up and die alone from a long, painful illness!"

The door slammed shut and I closed my eyes, letting out a long, calming breath. My head was throbbing all over. _Anybody got Advil?_

I'd just pissed off the guy in charge of me, and I was probably going to pay for it later. But all in a day's work, I guess.

* * *

Newell slammed the door rather forcefully as he exited the room and was met by four anxious-but-trying-not-to-show-it hybrid teens, five amused scientists in white coats identical to Newell's, and even one man who'd flown in from Itex's new headquarters in Yemen on order of the new Director herself.

Of the ten people in the room, only one could really guess at the most probable course of action.

He knew what everybody was thinking. Con and Blaze wanted to know what they were going to do with their ex-sister, Ariel was wondering why he'd been staring at Spark the entire time, the five scientists were primed and ready to rag Newell about his long-lost prodigy, and the Director's assistant (a rather unremarkable-looking blond man with a distinct Swedish accent) wanted to know if Newell would have Spark ready for the London conference next month.

He could see in Newell's eyes what he was going to say to answer all these questions. (Well, all except for Ariel's.) Just a few well-chosen words to put the teens at ease, to shut down the scientists, and to report to the assistant.

A few well-chosen words to shatter him completely.

"Well?" one of the five scientists questioned smugly. "What now, Newell?"

Dr. Newell took a long, deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "I. . .don't know what to say," Newell said, shrugging. "That was very, very disappointing."

"And?" Con prompted. He nodded his head toward Spark, still sitting at the table, attempting to chatter her escorts into oblivion. "What're we gonna do about her?"

One of the more enthusiastic, bright-eyed scientists piped up with, "I think we should run more tests. There's so much we can learn from. . ."

Ignoring Eager McJerkpants, Newell sighed. "I thought I could talk to her."

"Dr. Newell?" the Director's assistant said, raising an eyebrow.

"She's beyond my help now," Newell said hopelessly. "In my professional opinion, she's too dangerous."

"I see." The blond Swede reached into his pocket and pulled out a BlackBerry, typing in a text message to the Director as he turned and left the room. Murmuring disappointedly amongst themselves, the five scientists followed.

"Wait," Blaze said, eyes narrowing. "Does that mean. . .?"

His entire body went still, and he sensed Ariel looking at him questioningly.

_No._

Newell nodded.

_Don't say it._

"Kill her."

* * *

*oh yes i did make a reference to bunnicula.

so. . .shorter than the last couple chapters, but whatever. did it play up to expectations anyway?


	40. Chapter 40

i'm surprised some of you didn't catch what the point of view was for the second half of chapter 39. perhaps if you go back and read carefully. . .i _did_ leave clues.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride

* * *

_**40. the sound of music**_

Not soon after Newell left, I was subject to immense boredom. I'd already burned out my chatter-box skillz for the next two years or so, which left me suddenly quiet and annoyingly without anything to do to keep myself occupied.

I needed to find something that would let me get through to my bodyguards. I doubted they spoke English, and my Italian wasn't nearly good enough to speak fluently with them. I also doubted they knew any of the same languages I did. But I had to find a way. I needed to get them on my side so I could _get the hell out of here_.

Max was probably way annoyed with me, what with my getting kidnapped again. Fang was gonna be just plain pissed. Iggy would be worried, and the kids would be. . .aw, they'd be crushed that Sy wasn't on our side.

Wait. . .Sudden thought. If Sy was on their side, how come Angel, the notoriously talented mind-reader, hadn't picked up on it? Not even _he _could keep up an act that went thought-deep. Could he?

_Ah, screw him. I don't even care anymore._

Hell. Who am I kidding? I still care. Care that he _stabbed me in the goddamn back_. After practically being my _best friend ever._ After technically. . .for all of five minutes before revealing his true colors. . .being my. . ._boyfriend_.

Oh, if only my human friends could get wind of that. Their lovable, violent-minded, hug-a-phobic Nikki had had a _boyfriend_. They'd never let me live it down.

I heaved a tiny sigh. My human friends. When was school supposed to start? I doubted I'd actually be there--doubted I'd ever go back at all, at this point.

I sensed one of my bodyguards (the one on the right) look down at me as I sighed, but ignored it, because not a second later the door of the room opened, and Con strode in. Con, my third-favorite person to hate. Second was Blaze, and I'll give you something shiny if you can correctly guess number one. Hint: he'll be the cause of all my future relationship issues. If I have any future relationships, that is.

But back to Con.

"Oh, whatever it is you're here for, just get it over with," I groaned loudly, casting my eyes to the ceiling. "I'm not in the mood to mock you for too long."

"What, Jay took it out of ya, did he?" Con asked cockily. "Weird. Not even Avi gives in that early."

"Hell with her," I said tiredly, but my heart wasn't in it. I really was beat--hypermaladrine crash, I guess, which was worse than a sugar crash. I just wanted to _rest_ for once in my life. "Hell with all of you. Let me go back to my cell so I can brood and-slash-or sulk in peace."

"Not quite yet, Sparky," Con said nonchalantly, inspecting his fingernails. "There's somebody who wants to talk to you."

"Lemme guess," I said immediately, "it's Carlos Santana. He wants to know the secret to my evil success so he can take over the world with an army of flying Mexican frogs singing 'Into the Night' and 'Maria Maria.' "

"Um. . .no," Con said slowly. He smirked and tried to add something. "It's actually. . ."

I ignored him. "Unless it's Paris Hilton. She'd want the same thing, except she'd conquer the world with an army of giant chihuahuas constantly saying 'That's hot.' "

"No. It's. . ."

"Last guess! It's. . .um. . .it's. . .Tony Shalhoub! He's played Monk for so many years that he's become OCD, so he wants to turn the world into a perfect place where everything's clean and in its place and in groups of ten! Where there's no germs or milk or snakes or naked people or. . ."

"Oh, shut up already," said a vaguely familiar voice. I looked up and saw a girl with silver hair and red eyes standing in the doorway, watching me critically with arms crossed over her chest. "_I'm_ the one who needs to talk to you."

Dang it, why'd she look so familiar? I mean, I saw her for like a second when Joey and Frankie had dragged me in here, and if I had to guess I'd say she was a fish hybrid, but. . .it was just. . .something that stirred a blurry memory. Had I met her while crazy on the hypermaladrine?

"Spark, meet Ariel, Subject One of the human-fish recombinant group," Con said.

"Oh! A pleasure to meet you!" I said with false politeness, hurriedly getting to my feet and bowing. One of my bodyguards--Joey, I think, the one with shorter hair spiked into a fohawk--put a light hand on my shoulder and I sat back down, smirking at Ariel's irritated look.

"Don't give me that shit," she said venemously. She gave Con a look and he left. Ariel then stepped forward, leaning over the opposite end of the table to glare at me. "I want to talk to you."

"You're welcome to do so. Can't guarantee I'll listen, though. Or talk back with any level of seriousness," I replied brightly.

Ariel tensed. "Hit her for me."

I instinctively braced myself, but the blow didn't come. I looked up first at Joey, then Frankie, the latter of which glanced down at me and winked with a little half-smile.

Ariel looked pissed. Glaring at Joey, she repeated: "Hit her."

He replied curtly: "We weren't brought here to be abusers. We were brought to be sure she doesn't escape."

_Yay! They like me! And they speak English! Maybe I can win them over and they can help me esca--_

"OW!"

I yelped as Ariel smacked me across the face, her inch-long French tips cutting into my cheek. And in case you haven't been slapped by a manicured hand lately, I can tell you that it hurts. _Crapmuffins, _does it sting.

"Nnn. . .okay," I groaned out. I turned my head and looked up at Ariel through my bangs. "That caught me by surprise. I'll give ya that much, Air."

"Don't call me that," she snapped. "Only Dylan can call me that."

_Oh, so you have a little thing for him? Good luck with that. See how long it takes before he betrays_ you_ in some way, shape, or form._

"Hell, if it annoys you, I'm gonna keep sayin' it, _Air_. Oh, and good luck with _Dylan_, by the way. I hope the two of you kill each other out of the sheer force of your evil ass-hat-ness."

Ariel straightened up, crossing her arms across her chest again. "I came here to tell you your _friends_ have been captured. And, like you, they're slated for termination at midnight. Though we're still iffy about the schedule, wondering whether it'd be more painful for _them_ to watch _you_ die or for _you_ to watch _them_ die."

"What friends?" I asked. "I don't have friends. I'm anti-social. Chronic disorder, really, almost as bad as my OCD and Turret's. ASSFACE!" I accompanied the swearword with a violent head jerk.

Ariel rolled her eyes. "Then I'll put it into words you can understand. Maximum Ride and her flock. They're here. Under lock and key. Which means they can't come save you."

_. . .Wait. No, they can't be. They couldn't've been kidnapped. They'd've been _brought_ to me, for physical proof. Which means she's lying._

_. . .I think._

_God willing._

_Spark hoping._

"Sure. Okay," I said, rolling my eyes. "They're _here_."

"Fine. _Don't _believe me. You'll just see for yourself at the execution. I think they'll do all of you together, see who dies first as the others watch."

More scare tactics. Like those worked on me. "Ah. Right. _Execution_. I'm _soo_ scared. Can I go back to my normal cell now? At least that one has a _bed_. Where I can, like, fall asleep _comfortably_ through all this talking nonsense."

Ariel groaned and turned, flipping her hair in irritation. "Just take her back, then! It's a wonder Newell didn't slate you for death sooner."

"Oh, it's just 'cuz he couldn't find me," I said casually, shrugging my shoulders. " 'Cuz, y'know, I _escaped_ and all. I was _free_. I got to _live my life outside a stupid cage_."

Ariel didn't say anything else as she slammed the door behind her.

"Okay. Seven down, two to go." I rolled my shoulders and tilted my head from side to side before I stood up. Joey and Frankie took hold of my arms--less viciously than they had upon bringing me to the cell, I noticed--and began leading me from the room.

"Hey, what's more annoying?" I asked as we exited the doorway. "Showtunes from 'Hairspray' or assorted Disney mo. . .vies. . ."

I stopped dead when my eyes fell upon one person still in the viewing room. Joey tugged on my arm impatiently, but for what seemed like hours I couldn't move.

S--Dylan.

Of all people, _he_ had to still be there.

When we'd left the cell, he'd been staring into the room through the one-way window, and now he finally turned his head to look at me. His eyes--those stupid, goddamn_ eyes!_--were completely flat, dead of all emotion. Watching me. Staring at me. Conveying absolutely nothing, as if he were a statue carved of colored stone. Or a robot given human features. Or Fang.

_Hm. . .Fang. Max. Iggy. You guys in this place? Or was Ariel bullshitting me?_

I finally zapped out of my revere as Joey and Frankie physically lifted me off the floor by the arms, ready to carry me to the cell if I wouldn't walk. I took my eyes off of Dylan and kicked my feet in the air.

"Hey, hey, what's goin' on?" I cried out loudly. "I'm not _two_, I can walk by myself!"

"Well, you weren't gettin' nowhere, so calm down," the one with longer hair, Frankie, said, rolling his eyes.

"Hmph." I blew hair out of my face as they set me down again. "_Any_way, like I was saying, what's more annoying? 'Hairspray' or Disney songs sung at the top of my voice?"

Dylan remained in the room, never saying a word as Joey and Frankie pulled me out into the hall and back towards my cell.

"How about you don't sing at all?" Joey suggested tersely, in response to my question.

"Hmmmm. I'll do a combination of both, how's that sound?" I said, pretending like I hadn't heard him. Then I cleared my throat theatrically and started belting out lyrics.

_"You can't stop an avalanche as it races down the hi-ill! You can try to stop the seasons, girl, but you know you never wi-ill. And you can try to stop my dancin' feet but I just cannot stand stiiilll! 'Cuz the world keeps spinnin' round and round and my heart's keepin' time to the speed of sound I was lost till I heard the drums and I found my waaaaaaaayyyyy! You can't stop the beat!"_

Both Frankie and Joey cringed at my singing. Not that I was super-bad or anything--just that I was attracting attention. This hall seemed home to many mutants who were curious enough to come to the door and check out the commotion.

"Please shut up," Joey said. Instead of heeding him, I sang louder.

_"IIIIIII know you, I walked with you once upooonnn a dreeeeaam. IIIIII knooow youuu, that gleam in your eyes is soooo familiar a gleam!"_

"Spark, be quiet," Frankie pleaded, holding one hand to his ear. The other was still tight on my arm. Could I change that?

_"WITHOUT LOVE! LIFE IS LIKE THE SEEEASONS WITH NO SUM-MER! WITHOUT LOOOOVE! LIFE IS ROCK 'N ROOOOLL WITHOUT A DRUMMER! TRACY, I'LL BE YOURS FOREVER, 'CUZ I NEVER WANNA BE! WITHOUT LOOOOOOOOOOVEEE! TRACY, NEVER SET ME FREE!"_

More and more doors opened as Joey and Frankie urged me along, whitecoats and mutants of all ages wearing looks of shock and confusion. I started to drag my feet, prolonging the suffering.

_"DEY SAY DAT DA SEEWEED'S GREENA, IN SOMEBODY ELSE'S LAKE! YOU DREAM ABOUT GOING UP DERE, BUT DAT IS A BIG MISTAKE! LOOK AT THE WORLD AROUND YOU, RIGHT HERE ON THE OCEAN FLOOR! COME ON, AR-I-EL, NOW TELL ME, WHAT MORE ARE YOU LOOKIN' FOR? UNDER DA SEA! UNDER DA SEA! DOWN WHERE IT'S BET-TA, DOWN WHERE IT'S WET-TA, TAKE IT FROM MEE!"_

Joey and Frankie were lifting me again, trying to escape the humiliation I was causing them as fast as possible. I saw some people laughing behind their hands, whispering and pointing at me.

_"DON'T BREATHE TOO DEEP! DON'T THINK ALL DAAAAAYY! DIVE IN TO WORK! DRIVE THE OTHER WAAAAYYY! THAT RIP OF HURT! THAT PINT OF SHAME! GOES AWAY JUST PLAAAY THEEE GAAAAMMME! YOU'RE LIVING IN A-MEEERR-III-CAH! AT THE END OF THE MILLEEENNIIIIUUUMMM! _Wait a second, that's Rent! Oh well! _YOU'RE LIVING IN A-MEEERR-I-CAHHH! LEAVE YOUR CONSCIENCE AT THEEE TOOOONNNNNEE. . ."_

"Shut her up!"

"Yeah, guys, she's way too loud!"

Oh, _this _was too loud? Just you wait, suckerfish.

_"WHY SHOULD I WOR-RY? WHY SHOULD I CA-A-A-ARE? IT'S ALL A BEEP-BOP-U-LATION! I GOT STREEEET SAVOIR-FAIRE! HEY, OH! LET'S GO! THEY LOVE ME AT THE CHELSEA THEY ADORE ME AT THE RITZ!"_

"You're really pissing me off now, you know that?" Joey hissed in my ear. I ignored him.

_"IIIIIIIIIIINNN WEST PHILADELPHIA, BORN AN' RAISED, ON THE PLAYGROUND'S WHERE I SPENT MOST OF MY DAYS! CHILLIN' OUT, 'NAXIN', RELAXIN' ALL COOL AN' ALL SHOOTIN' SOME B-BALL OUTSIDE THE SCHOOL WHEN A COUPLE-A GUYS, WHO WERE UP TO NO GOOD! STARTIN' MAKIN' TROUBLE IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD! I GOT IN ONE LITTLE FIGHT AND MY MOM GOT SCARED, SHE SAID, 'YOU MOVIN' WITH YA AUNTIE AND UNCLE IN BEL-AIR!' "_

"Heey, that's not Disney _or_ 'Hairspray'!" Frankie pointed out. I ignored him, too.

_"THE BLACKER THE BERRY, THE SWEETER THE JUICE! I COULD SAY IT AIN'T SOOO BUT DARLIN', WHAT'S THE UUUUSE? THE DARKER THE CHOCOLATE, THE RICHER THE TASTE! AND THAT'S WHERE IT'S AAAA-AT! SO BABY RUN AND TEEELL THAT! OH SUGAAAR, RUN AND TELL THA-AT! HEEEEEYYY-YEAH!"_

We rounded a corner and I recognized the hall just next to mine. There weren't any amused faces poking out the doors here, but if I kept singing loud enough, they'd hear the echoes.

_"I'M GONNA BE A MIGHTY KING, SO ENEMIES BEWARE! I NEVER SAW A KING OF BEASTS WITH QUITE SO LITTLE HAIR! I'M GONNA BE THE MAIN EVENT, LIKE NO KING WAS BEFORE! I'M BRUSHIN' UP ON LOOKIN' DOWN, I'M WORKIN' ON MY ROOOAR!"_

Didn't seem like this long a walk on the way _to _interrogation, but whatever.

_"WILL I LOSE MY DIG-NI-TYYYYY?" _(Mission already accomplished, I think.)_ "WIIIIILL SOME-ONE CAAAAAAREE? WILL I WAKE TOMORROOOW FROM . . . THIIIIS NIIIIIIIIIIIGHTMAAAAAAAAREEEE?"_

Rounding second corner, where my cell was. I had to go in for a big finish. Something loud, something fitting, something funny. Hm. . .oh!

_"EVERYBODY! EVERYBODY! EVERYBODY WANTS TO BEEE A CAT! EVERYBODY! EVERYBODY! EVERYBODY WANTS TO BEEEEEEEEEEE AAAAAAAAAAA CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!"_

_SLAM!_

I stopped singing and went right into laughing as Joey and Frankie pushed me into the viewing room to my bedroom cell, slamming the door behind me. I whirled to face them and found them glaring, which oddly inflated my elation.

_Hmm. . .can they hear me through the door? Might as well try. _I lifted my head and started to sing again.

_"SHOO-BE-DOO! I WANNA BE LIKE YOU-OU-OU! I WANNA WALK LIKE YOU, TALK LIKE YOU TOO-OO-OO!"_

Halfway through they came up on either side of me and picked me up again, carrying me across the empty viewing room and into my cell. I was dropped, laughing, onto my cot before the two of them stormed out in an irritated huff.

"Ahaha! Come on, guys, I'm just havin' a little fun!" I called, slightly breathlessly. "What's so wrong with singing? _I WANNA KNOOOOW! CAN YA SHOOOOW ME? I WANNA KNOOW 'BOUT THESE STRANGERS LIKE MEEE!_"

_"SHUT UP!!"_

I laughed again before falling flat onto my thin cot, feeling a million percent better than before, if that was possible. When you just drop everything and don't care what people think, it's the most amazing feeling. Plus, musicals and Disney are some of the most fun songs to sing.

But singing that loud for that long? It took it out of ya, too. So after a few minutes of sitting there, I started to yawn. And then close my eyes. And then doze. . .

I jerked out of my singing-induced snooze session a good while later as the door of my cell banged open. My instinctive tension faded away as I realized it was only Joey and Frankie. They were getting less intimidating by the second--not only had they allowed me all that voice time in the hall, but they'd vouched for me (kinda) against Ariel. And this time, their badass level dropped about twenty points due to the fact that Joey was carrying a silver tray of food and Frankie was bearing a plastic pitcher and three glasses.

"Ooh, you're feedin' me now?" I asked sarcastically. I brought my knees up to my chest and closed my eyes. Despite my growling stomach and scratchy throat, I added, "I'm not gonna eat it, so you might as well take it away."

"No poison," Frankie said, shaking his head. He held up the hand precariously gripping three glasses. "We'll eat with you to be sure." He winked.

I blinked in surprise as he and Joey crossed the room to my cot, Joey placing the silver tray on the end of the bed. A warm aroma of something warm and meaty and familiar drifted toward me and my mouth began to water.

Why were they suddenly not wanting to kill me? I was pretty sure I'd pissed them off with the medley of showtunes earlier. "Uh. . .th-thanks, guys," I mumbled, dragging my knuckles across my eyes. Then I held up my fists. "Any hopes of de-magnetizing these things so I can actually eat like a normal person?"

And to my surprise, Joey pulled out a remote and hit a button. My ankles and wrists went limp as the magnets in the cuffs stopped working.

"Whoa, I didn't think that would work," I said, not bothering to lower my voice. Joey and Frankie exchanged glances, shared a shrug, and went to the food they'd brought. I watched Frankie divvy up the beverage--lemonade, it looked like--as Joey pulled a cover off the tray to reveal about a dozen hot dogs or so. I shut my eyes and inhaled deeply. Portillo's, no doubt. Best place in Chicago.

Joey handed me a loaded hot dog, and Frankie put a glass of lemonade by my feet, sitting down on the floor himself. A little embarrassed, I said, "Hey, um, sorry about earlier. . .with the singing. I was just trying to. . .uh. . ."

"Don't worry about it," Joey said, sitting on the opposite end of the cot. He grinned at me. "It was a gutsy move. You really that motivated to piss 'em off?"

"Hell yeah," I replied. I took a small bite of hot dog and swallowed. "They've done way too much shit to me before this for me to care if I make them look bad." I took another small bite.

"Hey, if you're gonna eat, eat like a real Chicagoan," Frankie said, smirking. To accompany it he bit off nearly half his own hot dog in a single chomp. I was surprised into laughing, though Joey just rolled his eyes.

"Are you from Chicago, then?" I asked. Then, for Frankie's benefit, I took a monstrous mouthful. He gave me a thumbs-up.

"Technically," Joey answered. "Though we grew up in Italy."

"Ah." I reached down and grabbed my glass of lemonade, took a sip, and hesitated. "Hey, um, why are you guys suddenly being nice to me? I thought you were supposed to not be my friends."

"We're supposed to make sure you don't escape," Joey corrected.

"Nobody said nothin' 'bout not likin' ya," Frankie added.

"Huh." I swallowed. "Then, um, can you tell me what the hell's going on? Like, with them wanting me back all of a sudden? With no lies?"

Joey glanced at Frankie, who shrugged. "Might as well. Ask away."

"We'll tell ya what we can," Frankie put in.

"Okay," I said slowly. "Then. . .what was with the hypermaladrine they gave me? Why'd they do it?"

It was Joey who answered. I guess he was the leader and Frankie the sidekick in their relationship. "They're testing out new performance-enhancers for mutants. There's gonna be a. . ._conference_ next month in London." He said _conference_ with the distaste of some goth kid saying _pink_. "Whichever group wins the most competitions get the majority of the grants for further research."

"What kind of conference?" I asked. "And what groups are. . .competing?"

"Deciding whether or not to keep up the human-animal hybrid experiments. Only three major groups now that the lupines were an epic fail," Frankie said. He ticked off three fingers as he named the competitors. "Only ones left are you featherbrains, of course,--" I rolled my eyes, smirking. "--the scum-suckers,--" Fish, I presumed. "--and the felines."

"So you're part cat," I guessed.

Joey nodded, and Frankie said, "Yeah. Four-point-six percent."

I slid my eyes over each of them--cataloguing their strong, good-looking features and having a mental laugh at all my hot-guy-obsessed friends who were missing out--before observing, "You don't look like you have any physical characteristics."

Frankie held up a hand. I watched with ever-widening eyes as coarse red-brown hair spurted out of the back of his hand, growing up the upper surface of his arm to the elbow. The hand itself curled and elongated, thick, pointed black nails shooting from his cuticles to form a weird were-cat paw. I looked up at his face, stunned, and got a second shock when I saw his eyes had turned yellow, with slits for pupils. His suddenly-thicker hair lifted a bit as if in a breeze and I noticed red-brown streaks had appeared in the otherwise dark brown. He smiled, and with a start I saw his canines were suddenly pointed, making him look almost demonic.

_It was so totally wicked_.

"Okay, _that_ is _way_ cool," I blurted, not even trying to hide my admiration. I'd always been allergic to cats myself, but that didn't stop me from thinking they were cool. "At least I can fly, though. But this conference thing--is that why they're suddenly after us now?"

"I guess," Frankie said, his voice oddly deep and guttural. I looked at him in alarm and he held up one clawed finger. Taking a breath, he exhaled through his mouth and suddenly all his kitty-cat features went away. The Italian boy blinked and shook himself before resuming. "Though another part is that chip you've got suddenly kicked in again."

My heart stopped for a second. "I have a chip?"

"Yeah," Joey said. He nodded at me. "In that necklace thing."

My hand flew to my neck, where the rock-on-a-string I'd had since before I could remember had hung at my sternum. _It had a chip? They'd known where I was this whole time?_

Frankie must've been saying something, but I only caught the last half of it. ". . .but it started working again, and that's when they started chasing ya."

"I'm sorry, repeat that?" I said, blinking. "The first part."

"It zonked out when you escaped ten years ago?"

"It. . .did?"

Joey shrugged. "That's what we heard. You're a pretty popular gossip piece, y'know. You and the others. The ones from California."

"Max and the flock," I clarified, and both Joey and Frankie nodded. "Why? Just because we escaped?"

"Not only that, but you're the only ones who are still alive," said Joey. "A couple others have escaped, like a few reptile prototypes and I think a bug boy, but without Itex's equipment, they died. Or got re-captured. Or re-captured and killed."

"Geez." Poor lil' guys. I dropped the wrapper of my second hot dog and downed the last of my lemonade in a single gulp. With a contented sigh, I asked, "So what's next on my agenda? Should I warm up the pipes before the mornin'?"

Joey's eyebrows came together, and a look of confusion crossed Frankie's face.

"What? I mean, they're gonna run more tests with me, right?" I said. "I need more ways to annoy them, so. . ."

"Spark, stop," Joey said, his voice low.

"What?"

"I. . .we thought you knew," Frankie said slowly.

"Knew what?" I asked. They were starting to freak me out. What was wrong?

"Ariel was telling the truth, Spark," Joey finally said, averting my eyes. "They're terminating you at midnight."

My insides froze as I inhaled sharply. _These_ guys had no reason to lie to me. _These_ guys were good. _These_ guys had been telling me the truth. Why would they say it unless it was true? They didn't know me well enough to screw with me yet!

My voice hoarse, I asked, "And. . .and what time is it now?"

Joey and Frankie exchanged dubious looks, as if they didn't want to tell me.

My internal clock said it was night. Was it too late? _"What time is it?!"_

"It. . .! It's e-e-eleven. . ." Frankie stuttered. "E-eleven. . .fi. . ."

"It's eleven fifty, Spark," Joey said quietly. "A-at night. You've got ten minutes before we take you to termination."

* * *

big 4-0! whoo! this chapter took a while to get going, but i wrote it in the end.

the singing was fun. those lyrics are going off my own memory, so i don't know if all of them are right, but still. can you name all the movies/shows/musicals i got the songs from?


	41. Chapter 41

okay, so, like, i updated with chapter 40, and three days later, i check my reviews and see so many new reviews! i was like, whoa! either chapter 40 really rocked or really sucked!

according to the reviews, though, it rocked.

Old-Fashioned Girl22: again, i thank you. ;)

Lyss: aww. thanks. but you used the wrong "your." you meant "you're," as in "you are." (sorry. once an english nerd, always an english nerd.)

11Twilightcrazy: i liked the singing part, too. fun to write. and don't worry about not knowing all the songs, i picked pretty random/lesser known stuff.

everything-she's-not: here's more! just for you.

amongthewinged: thanks. i try to keep it exciting.

)(*wings*)(: number six was from _oliver and company_. twelve and thirteen were actually _the jungle book_ and _tarzan_. jo-bros did that when all the stars were remaking old disney hits.

Caris L. Clearwater: if you like them you should vote for them in the poll on my profile. ^^ and all questions shall be answered. . .eventually.

(geez, there're a lot of you this time.)

elexa: i'm not mean. . .just evil. MWAHAHA!

blackberry01: i'm not _that_ rebellious. i don't think.

Niamhooo: i thank you especially for breaking the 200 mark. :) and if you hadn't mentioned it before, i know now, so thanks!

UNDERLANDERfromtheOVERLAND: i do want to keep going. guilty as charged.

reader238: "shocking escape." funny. 'cuz her name's spark and she can control electricity and. . .nevermind.

666CeCe666: glad you liked it! and here's your update!

FireHawk43: erasers were an epic fail because. . .well, for one thing, their life span was really short. plus, the flock beat them almost every time anyway. and because I didn't feel like including them.

so anyway. . .enjoy.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**41. if you only had so long to live**_

I was practically catatonic as Joey and Frankie quietly cleaned up and left. Nothing focuses the mind so much as imminent death.

_I only had ten minutes to live_.

What was I supposed to do with that time? Cry? Beg for mercy? Get mad? Curse the world, God, humanity for being so cruel to me? Plan to escape? Think back on the good times? Despair over the fact that nobody would ever know what had happened to me? Go over my giant list of regrets? Come to sudden philosophical acceptance of death?

No. Hadn't worked when my grandma died, wasn't gonna work now.

I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't beg for mercy. I'd never give them the satisfaction of finally seeing me weak and broken. I wasn't gonna get mad, either. I mean, if I was gonna die, I was gonna die. If I couldn't change it, I'd accept it.

But because I don't plan on accepting it, I'll just have to change it.

How much time had I already wasted? A minute? That left me with nine.

Nine minutes to think of a plan.

Nine minutes.

Nine minutes.

. . .Well, shit. Not really a helluva lotta time to think, now is it?

I brought my legs up and crossed them on the cot, dropping my elbows on my knees and burying my face in my hands. _Think, dammit, think!_ Hmm. . .if Max and the flock were here, I could try to find them. Run from whoever tried to take me to termination and. . .no, no, that'd never work, I wasn't even sure where they _kept_ other kidnapped mutants. _C'mon! THINK!!!_

My fingers curled into my hair and my throat started to get all tight in frustration. Countless scenarios ran through my mind at hyperspeed, but none held any water. _Can I just find a window? Or get a hold of a weapon? Or hypermaladrine? What are my options? Who'll be guarding me as they transport me to execution? Or are they just gonna come in here with a needle and. . .?_

Oh, God, I felt ready to cry in anger. Never before had I felt so helpless. Never in my life. And good thing, too, because I _absolutely hated it._ I don't know 'bout you guys, but I'd never been faced with this kind of predicament before. I'd never been so totally out of ideas, so completely backed into a corner with no way out. I never wanted to feel like this ever again. Didn't matter that I felt that way, though, because in seven minutes I. . .I was gonna. . .

My eyes stung with tears, but I blinked them away. _No. No! I won't cry. I won't! I refuse to cry! I just gotta think, I gotta figure a way outta here. Come _on_! You're stronger than this, so just _think!

* * *

_They told her?! Why the hell'd they tell her _now?!_ They should've told her sooner, so she had more time to. . .!_

When the two cat hybrids had quietly left Spark in her cell, they'd been slightly surprised to see Sy in the viewing room, watching horrorstruck through the one-way window. He hadn't said a thing to them yet. Just had one-track-minded thoughts.

_She can't die. I won't let her die. I have to help her get out of here._

"Um. . .what are you doing here?" one of the cat boys finally asked. The one with longer hair, the one Spark had called Frankie.

He didn't answer at first. Just kept staring at the nearly-catatonic Spark, sitting motionless as a statue on the cot in her cell. He stared until a hand waved across his vision; Sy blinked and looked round.

"He-_llooooo_." It was Frankie, and he was watching him with expectant confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh. . ." was all he could say.

The second cat hybrid, Joey, narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Uh? That's all you can say?"

_Yes._ Sy looked down, wondering what he was supposed to do now.

It'd gone too far. He hadn't gotten her out fast enough. He'd let the act go on for too long, and now they were disinfecting the needles and sharpening the brain-dissection tools.

"Ah, screw you anyway," Frankie said, frowning. "We know what you did to her, you little f*cker." He turned to follow Joey out of the room.

Sy's head whipped around so he could glare at Frankie, his fists clenching. "I _had_ to do that. You don't understand, I. . ."

"Nah, we understand, Fish Boy," Frankie interrupted angrily, his voice changing slightly. It was becoming deeper, and as Sy watched, the boy's canine teeth grew longer, sharper, as his eyes turned yellow and slitted. Joey lay a hand on Frankie's shoulder, but he didn't seem to notice--his ears grew furry and triangular, just like a cat's. "You played her like a harmonica so you could get what you wanted and then you just threw her away. And guess what? Now she's gonna die. So good job. Real nice."

A tingling rush of power raced through Sy's veins, and he must've blacked out for a second, because the next thing he was aware of was his hands fisted in Frankie's shirt, pinning the cat boy to the wall. Joey was on the ground, holding his face, blood dripping through his fingers.

Sy silently cursed at himself. Red-Eyes Evil Dylan* was acting up, like he always did when he got mad. He was pretty sure if he looked in a mirror just then, his eyes would be freckled with ruby specks.

He shook his head. _Don't think about it._

"You listen to me," he hissed at Frankie, narrowing his eyes dangerously. "I did what I did so I could be on the inside and get her out easier than if we'd both been caught. Yes I screwed up and waited too long, and now she's slated for termination, but I can't keep thinking about it right now, because she's got less than ten minutes before they're strapping her dead body to a table so they can cross-section her _brain_!"

"H-how do I know you're not just tryin' to play _us_?" Frankie demanded, face twisting into a scowl. He raised a clawed hand threateningly, ready to slash down over Sy's wrists if he had to. "And I'd be careful 'bout your answer, Fish Boy, 'cuz I'll snap you like a twig if you're lyin'."

"I'm not lying." Sy glared for a second before letting go of Frankie. He stepped back, hands clenching and unclenching nervously at his sides. "And stop calling me that."

"What, Fish Boy?" Keeping his eyes on Sy, Frankie took a step to the side to help Joey get to his feet. Sy felt a twinge of guilt as he saw the boy's bloody, crooked nose. "Why? It's what you are, right?"

"Just. . .don't call me that," Sy said tiredly. "For now, call me. . .Dylan."

"You want us to call you by your name, you're gonna have to give us something better than just 'I'm not lying,' " Joey said thickly, lifting the hem of his shirt to stem the flow of blood from his nose. "So spill. Why you so into Spark? Way she reacted when she saw ya made me think she hates your guts."

Sy sighed. "That's just because I knocked her out. She thinks I switched sides, that I. . .betrayed her."

"Well, you kinda did," Frankie said, eyes still practically glowing with anger. "What the hell were you thinking? Why not just run?"

"They were coming at us from all sides. She'd've never left me even if I told her to run. So I had to pretend that I'd been putting her on the entire time. Only option that I could think of."

He glanced up and watched Joey and Frankie exchange glances. Joey nodded slightly, and Frankie reluctantly let his cat-like features retreat.

"Okay then." Frankie looked at Sy skeptically. "You got a plan or what?"

* * *

He took a breath, steadying himself. He glanced at Joey and Frankie, who gave him miniscule nods.

_"It's _you_ that has to do it. It's the only way. Either of us do anything and they'll know somethin's up."_

_". . .You _do_ know she still hates me, right?"_

_"What, you think we're stupid or somethin'?"_

_"Of course she still hates you. That's why it's perfect, she won't suspect it or give it away, 'cuz she'll be too weirded out to do anything."_

_"Except escape, of course."_

_"That's the plan."_

Like that made it any easier.

Sy lifted his head and steeled himself, then threw open the door to Spark's cell and strode inside.

Her head came up as soon as the door opened, panic crossing her face. Panic that was immediately replaced by cold fury when she recognized who it was.

"So?" she demanded snidely. "My time up yet? Did they send you to deliver the news? Add insult to injury?"

"Sadly, no," he said, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're keeping time right? You still got three minutes or so before I call the cats in here to haul you down to termination."

"Well, gee. Three whole minutes! What _ever_ will I do during this _treasured_ time?" Spark said in exasperation, clapping a hand over her heart dramatically. "All those _precious_ little seconds, what _ever_ will I _do_? Read, write, sing? Well, without a book I cannot read, and without a pen I cannot write, so singing it will have to be. Ahem. _I can show you the woooorrld. Shining, shimmering, spleeeeeeenndid. . ._"

"Oh, shut up," Sy interrupted, rolling his eyes. He could've listened to her go on forever, but time was being wasted. Then he smiled cockily, which made Spark halt mid-lyric to look at him in guarded curiosity. "There's one thing I still need to do, before the others come in for a final questioning." He pushed himself off the door and took a few swaggering steps toward the cot.

"You get away from me," Spark snarled, scrambling up off the cot as he drew nearer. He turned and she backed away from him, cornering herself in the part of the room furthest from the door. "I don't give a shit about what you 'need to do.' "

"Ya kinda should, though," he said reasonably, but still sounding incredibly arrogant. "It has to do with you."

"Again: don't give a shit," she snapped, hands curling into claws. Sparks danced over her fingertips and, before she could blast him through a wall, Sy pulled out a remote and hit one of the buttons. Spark's wrist-cuffs became magnetized again and stuck fast to the wall, which was painted with metallic paint for just this sort of purpose.

Well, not this purpose _exactly_. But for detaining trapped hybrids, for sure.

"Hey, what the. . .!" Spark started tugging on the cuffs, but they wouldn't budge. "What'd you do?! Let me go, you bastard!"

He moved even closer, so that if she wanted she could rest her head on his chest. Not that she'd want to.

"What. Are. You doing here?" Spark asked, her voice soft and deadly.

"Well, this isn't the first time I've had to reign in a rogue experiment," he lied easily. "And I generally don't get involved with my work, but. . ." Sy smirked mischievously and leaned his hand on the wall just beside Spark's head, attempting to make her feel even more trapped than she already was. "I won't say I didn't like the kissing you part. That was by far the high point of this particular job."

Spark's head snapped up to glare at him, but when all she met was his smirk, she allowed her head to lower once again, shadowing her eyes. Those dancing, glinting-with-fury eyes. "Go to hell," she mumbled.

He put a hand under her chin and tilted her head up as he leaned in closer.

"I intend to," he whispered, and then he kissed her.

He actually felt the tingle of electricity through their lips before Spark's hand wrenched away from the wall and slapped him in a way only a pissed-off and betrayed girl could slap. He stepped away, but not quick or far enough, because then her fist was buried in his stomach, robbing him of all breath and causing him to bend double, almost falling to his knees.

"Get away from me," she breathed, sounding on the verge of tears. Sy glanced up at her and saw she was glaring at him, furious tears glistening in her golden-brown eyes. She'd only had strength to pull her hands away for that short interlude, because now they were back against the wall. "Just get. . ._away_."

He coughed a few times before he was able to straighten up some, arm across his sore abdomen. "Okay, I _might _have deserved that. But. . ."

"Get _out!_" Spark shrieked, yanking her arm free of the wall again. Crackles of lime-green lightning shot from her hand and Sy only barely dodged it. The bolt soared across the room and slammed the wall, creating a large, star-shaped burn mark in the paint job. The metallic particles in the paint sent a shock wave throughout the walls and into the ceiling, causing the lights to burst from electric overload.

Sy stumbled backwards, banging his knee on the metal frame of Spark's cot. "All right, all right, I'm going!" he called back laughingly. There was a wordless cry of anger before he found the door and re-entered the viewing room.

Once he'd pulled it shut, Sy closed his eyes and took a breath. That'd been hard, for sure. Testing his acting skills way beyond anything he'd ever had to do before. But at least she'd live now, and that was all that mattered. Even if he wasn't able to get out after her, even if he never saw her again. . .

"What. The hell. Was _that?!_"

Sy jumped, hand coming off the doorknob of Spark's room and eyes flying open. It was Ariel, and she looked pissed. She'd probably come in early, maybe in hopes of taunting Spark herself before Newell came in to give her a final choice: cooperation or death.

And because nobody had any doubts about what Spark would say, Joey and Frankie would then be called in and Con would lead her to the termination room.

Sy half-smiled in polite confusion. "What was what, Ariel?"

_"That!"_ the red-eyed girl snapped, pointing one manicured fingernail to the blacked-out cell. Nobody in the room had much trouble seeing Spark despite the fact the lights had gone out--genetic engineering at work, people. "I _saw_ what you _did_. You _kissed _her."

_This_ would be much easier for him to do. He'd never particularly liked Ariel anyway.

"So?" he asked mildly. "She's hot. And a good kisser. And I'd like to think I'm the last good thing that happened to her before she died." Smug smirk, haughty look in the eye, and Ariel was officially pissed off. She opened her mouth to screech at him, but just then Dr. Newell and Con walked into the viewing room, Joey and Frankie right behind them. The cat boys looked at Sy with hope in their eyes, and he blinked once. Joey let out a soundless breath of relief and Frankie half-smiled faintly.

"Er. . .what happened?" Newell asked, sounding just as confused as he looked as he stared nonplussed into the dark room.

"She had a temper tantrum," Sy said, shrugging. "Don't worry, she's still in there."

Newell blinked, opened his mouth, closed it again, and shook his head. Seemed like he'd decided against wanting to know the details. She was going to be terminated anyway, so why'd it matter?

"Fetch her out," the scientist ordered, looking to Joey and Frankie. "And keep a hold on her--it'd be irritating if she escaped."

The felinthropes** obeyed and came out bearing a kicking and squirming Spark. Newell tried to present her with her choice, but couldn't get a word in edgewise amongst all the colorful curses she was flinging around. After a minute and a half, Newell gave up--and just in time, too, because right then his wristwatch beeped. Newell looked down and sighed.

"Midnight, kids. Spark, I'm so very sorry."

"Like hell you are!" Spark yelled. She was thrashing so much Frankie had to wrap his arms around her, with Joey trying to keep her kicking feet under control (everybody else had already stepped out of range). "I bet you're smiling when you stick me with death serum!!"

Newell sighed again, then turned and left the room. "You know where to go, Con," he called back.

"I know," Con said, eyes on Spark. He hadn't stopped smirking like that since Newell had first said Spark was a lost cause. He waited until Joey had a hold on her feet--Spark was now suspended in the air, Frankie carrying the top end, Joey the bottom--before stepping closer and leaning in close.

He said something to Spark so quiet Sy couldn't hear it. But whatever it was, it seemed to piss Spark off, because she worked her mouth for a second before spitting in Con's face. He immediately reacted by backhanding her across the face so hard Frankie nearly dropped her.

"Stupid bitch!" Con snarled. To Joey and Frankie, he barked out, "Let's go!"

Joey dropped Spark's legs and went up to her left side. Then, with Frankie on her right, she was forcibly led from the room.

Forcibly led to her death.

* * *

_"After they take her away, I can't do anything. It'll look too suspicious."_

_"So it'll be up to us, you mean."_

_"Pretty much. Don't screw it up."_

_"Thanks, Fish Boy."_

_"Yeah, nice to know you have faith in us."_

Frankie had no idea what was going through Spark's head right now. Confusion? Rage? Joy? Confusion?

Had it been him, it probably would've been confusion.

But given that the three of them--Joey, Sy, and himself--had come up with the plan in, like, three minutes, it was pretty damn complex. Everything rode on Spark picking up on it and doing what they were hoping she'd do. Otherwise, they were all dead.

Frankie moved his fingers from their grip around Spark's wrist and squeezed her hand momentarily, hoping she wasn't too confused and silently praying she'd pick up on the game.

_Come on, kid, make some noise,_ he thought at her. He didn't have any mental powers, but right then he really wished he did. _Start up that annoying stuff you're so good at, otherwise this won't work._

"Hey, Frankie!" Spark suddenly said loudly. Frankie's eyes flicked to Constantine's back, noticing the way it'd gone all stiff.

"Uh, what?"

"I think I should sing again. That was really fun, wasn't it? What say you?"

"Don't," Joey said sharply. "Don't you dare, or I will kill you right here right now." But when Spark looked at him, he winked, which made her smile. Frankie squeezed her arm reassuringly as well.

"So I should? Okay." Spark cleared her throat, opened her mouth, and started to sing. Really, really loudly.

_"THINK OF A WONDERFUL THOOOUUUGHT! AAANY HAPPY LITTLE THOOOUUUUGHT! THINK OF SLEIGH BELLS, THINK OF SNOW, THINK OF THEM AND OFF YOU GO! LIKE REINDEER IN THE SKYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! YOU CAN FLY, YOU CAN FLY, YOU CAN FLYYYYYYYY!"_

Frankie looked to Joey, asking the silent question. _Now?_

* * *

_"THINK OF THE HAPPIEST THIIIINNNGS! IIIT'S THE SAME AS HAVING WIIIIIINGS!" _How funny, to think that _Peter Pan_ had popped into my head this time. And even though it was kinda hard to sing, I plowed on. _"THINK OF ALL THE JOY YOU'LL FIND WHEN YOU LEAVE THE WORLD BEHIND! WAY UP IN THE SKYYYYY! YOU CAN FLY, YOU CAN FLY, YOU CAN FL--"_

I was cut off mid-"fly" as my thoughts snapped. Mind torture, but of a different breed. This time, I wasn't forced to think of my own pain: instead, all I could think about was when others I knew, my friends and family, had gotten hurt. Thoughts of _their_ pain.

_Kenny, screaming after she realized two of her fingertips had been sliced almost clean off by the ice skate._

_Iggy, right after he'd gotten shot._

_My brother, lying sprawled in the snow, his forehead slashed open by the corner of a metal sled._

_Angel, squirming in Swift's arms._

_Dad, huddled at the bottom stairs after tripping and tumbling down._

_Fang, stuck in Blaze's headlock._

_My mother, face a mask of surprised pain as her ski tips caught on the mound and tugged her out of the chair lift._

_Max, her head snapping to the side as Con pistol-whipped her._

_My best human friend, Kelsey, catching her skateboard on a rock and flipping over, skidding along the cement for almost ten feet._

_Gazzy, getting clipped with some shot as Shadow fired his gun._

_My twin cousins, wincing and occasionally groaning as they tried to disentangle themselves from their crashed bicycles._

_Nudge, recoiling as a ball from a hornet's nest hit her arm._

_Sy, his head cracking back against the opposite wall of my cell._

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the images ceased, and I hung limp between Joey and Frankie--they'd picked me up again. My whole body felt weak, and I could taste something metallic in my mouth. Had I bitten my tongue? Or was it just. . .right. _Thank God I didn't choke._

"Next time, just keep your mouth shut, Spark." Con's voice barely made any sense to my scrambled brain. "One more word and I'll never let it stop."

I moved my legs and Joey got the message--he lowered me to the ground before coming up to my left side, his usual post. I forced myself to walk, because it seemed to speed up the process to get my brain back on "function." I was careful not to say anything, but to further regain focus and to annoy Con, I continued to hum along to "You Can Fly."

I was just wondering how I could possibly escape when, as Con turned a corner just ahead of us, Joey and Frankie fell back, letting me go and yelping in surprise. I nearly collapsed without them there to hold me up, but braced my legs and turned to them, wide-eyed and confused, thinking I somehow must've hurt them.

But when I looked down to where they'd fallen, and looked at their faces, I saw Frankie was smiling and winking and Joey was mouthing for me to run, now. They'd planned this. That, coupled with what'd happened back in the cell. . .my eyes stung and my vision went blurry for a second. _You guys. . .how will I ever. . .?_

I jumped over them as Con came flying back around the corner. He saw me escaping and cursed, and I poured on the speed before he could shoot me down with either bullet or mind-torture. I was outta there _jack_.

* * *

*tiny yu-gi-oh reference. if you squint. red-eyes black dragon? no? forget i mentioned it, then.

**well, were_wolves_ are _lycan_thropes, and joey and frankie are kinda like were_cats_, and _feline _means _cat_. . .

hope i came through with expectations. more on the escape next chapter!


	42. Chapter 42

brace yourselves.

a lot of stuff happens in this chapter.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**42. one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish. . .along with some birds and idiot nerds**_

Apparently, the whitecoats don't just leave random vials of hypermaladrine lying around waiting to be stolen by escapee mutants with sticky fingers and hyperactive reactions to said hypermaladrine.

In case you didn't know.

I slammed the final drawer shut in this newest lab room, furiously annoyed. Couldn't I just get one tiny break? No. Because the universe hates me. _Well guess what, universe? I hate you too._

I turned my head and looked at the closed door as I heard the dogs baying again. I'd caught sight of them a few times here and there--a bunch of leggy, no-doubt-first-class foxhound-type dogs, the kind that look like overgrown Beagles. I usually stayed a few steps ahead of them, but not even I could outrun bloodhounds for long.

I found a security camera and beamed, waving obnoxiously at whoever would watch this tape later. Then I smashed it, ripping it from the wall and tossing it to the floor, before I hopped back up on the counter. I pulled myself back up into the air vent and commenced my systematic search through the Factory.

It was, oh, I don't know, about three in the morning now. After "I" had "electrocuted" Joey and Frankie into "unconsciousness," I'd shaken Con pretty easily. I ditched my cuffs, found a storage closet, and entered the magic that is Air Duct Land. I'd waited until the announcement that I'd escaped (again) echoed throughout the building before dropping into the empty labs, searching for the flock and/or hypermaladrine. When I found them, I'd shoot myself up with the 'drine, blow out a wall, and then we'd be outta there.

Simple, easy to remember. I call it: The Plan.

Anywho, since crawling through Air Duct Land _isn't_ the most fun I've had in my life (big shocker), I think I'll take this time to explain something that may have confused you.

I said that after I'd shaken Con off my trail, I ditched my cuffs. Both wrist and ankle. Gone. Back in the janitor's closet where I'd entered Air Duct Land.

How did I come by this impossible feat? Well, I unlocked 'em. And they came off pretty easily after that.

How did I unlock them? With a key, of course. A weird skeleton key a certain someone had slipped to me via kiss back in my cell.

Uh-huh. You read right. But in case you're dim, "certain someone" is code for "Sy."

Knew there was a reason I liked that guy.

I mean, yeah, I'd been so totally pissed at him for betraying me in the alley, and I'd just about kneed him in the family jewels when he kissed me in the cell like he did, but then the key had slid into my mouth and it'd all just clicked. He hadn't betrayed me; he'd only pretended to so he could be on the inside while I was captured.

I think. 'Cuz, like, he _did _wait until it was almost too late to rescue me. And he'd been a total dick throughout the whole thing. (Though, I felt a little bad that I'd kicked him in the ribs so hard yesterday. Geez, was it only yesterday? So much had happened. . .) But despite him saving me, if I ever saw him again, I was _soooo_ going to make him pay for tricking me. I'll like, dye his hair permanently pink. Or something else incredibly evil.

Anyway, he wasn't a total jackass anymore. So yay.

I paused over the grating to a new room, carefully looking down without moving so much that I'd draw a wandering eye. It looked like your average holding cell, like countless others (okay, that's a lie, they weren't countless--there were only twelve) in the building. Black walls, cement floor. Skinny lil' cot in the corner. One-way mirror. Carbon copy of my own cell.

Only this one was different.

Because there was a kid in this one.

A kid I recognized.

Happiness filled my soul so much I felt I'd start floating with the lift of it. Quickly but quietly, I used the flat end of the skeleton key to unscrew the screws holding the grate in place. Then I shifted it out of the way, lay flat down in the air vent, and stuck my head to peer around upside-down into the room.

I hung like that, blood rushing to my head and back muscles going numb, for about a minute, which was how long it took for Fang to open his eyes and see me. He jumped and I reminded myself to laugh later. For the moment, though, I just grinned.

"Hi," I said brightly. I tilted my head to the side innocently. "Sorry to bother you, but I thought you might like to join me in an epic adventure to rescue the others and bust the hell outta here. Sound good?"

Fang just stared at me for a second, almost like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. I dropped my arm into the room and checked my wrist. Upon which there was no watch.

"I give you five seconds to respond. Otherwise I'm leavin' yo' goth ass in here to rot like a--"

"How the hell'd you escape?" he finally asked, sitting up but not moving from the cot. I wondered why for a second, then realized his hands and feet were bound by the stupid magnetic cuffs. "The cot's bolted to the floor, and that vent's too high to. . ."

"Escape now, explain later," I interrupted. "Come on, we've gotta find the others. You're all here, right?"

"Yeah. Even Total." Fang swung his legs to the floor and stood up. He hesitated, then bunny-hopped over to stand beneath the vent.

I want you to fix that image in your head for a second. Fang--black-wearing, soft-spoken-yet-still-totally-badass _Fang_--with his ankles stuck together, hopping ridiculously across a room like a bunny rabbit.

I swear to God it was the funniest thing I'd seen in my life.

He held up his wrists and I used my magic key to unlock them. Then I handed it over so he could get the ankles, and finally helped him up into the vent after me. Screwed the grate in place, took a second to get over the rush of blood flowing out of my brain, and commenced the exploration of Air Duct Land.

As Fang and I searched for Max, Iggy, Angel, Nudge, the Gasman, and Total, he questioned me like no other. How long had I been here? What had they done to me? How did I have a key to the cuffs? Where was Sy? Were Con and the anti-flock involved in it all? What were their plans for me?

To answer him, I played a game called "Fang vs. Fang," wherein I replied to all his questions just as he himself would answer them. In other words: monotone, emotionless, vague, and in incomplete sentences. I could tell it frustrated him. And it was pretty funny.

But anyway, after I found Fang, it didn't take long to find everybody else. Like, an hour, tops. So, Phase One of The Plan was complete.

But I had yet to find hypermaladrine and carry out Phase Two.

And the dogs seemed to be picking up on my scent more often than they had before.

So I was beginning to get pressed for time.

* * *

"So?" he asked quietly. "Did it work?"

"Yeah," said Joey, and Frankie nodded. "She picked up on it and ran when we let her go, and they found her abandoned cuffs down one of the bedroom halls. She's. . .well, _almost _free."

Sy let out a breath and leaned back against the countertop. He, Joey, and Frankie were in one of the smaller experimenting rooms, where scientists would strap hybrids to the table and run all sorts of tests. This was also the same room where Spark had been not too long ago--the security officers had sent the three of them here to investigate when the camera had cut out.

"Has anybody checked on Max and the others in a while?" he asked.

"Um, don't think so," Frankie said. "Why? You think she'll try to find them before she leaves?"

"No doubt. But, uh, don't go talking about it, okay?"

"We're not _stupid_." Joey rolled his eyes and checked the time on the wall clock. "But maybe we should try and see if they're still in their cells. Give us a better sense of how long it'll be before Spark's out."

"It's already been three hours," Frankie pointed out. "Twenty bucks says she's already halfway to--"

_"Attention. We have just received information that seven more experiments have escaped. Six human/avian hybrids, one mutated canine. We believe them to be working with the other human/avian that is loose in the building. Find them and capture them by any means necessary. Thank you."_

"Twenty bucks," Joey said, holding out a hand. "Hand it over."

"No way, that doesn't count!" Frankie protested. "It cut me off before I was done talking, and you didn't even agree to it!"

"Twenty bucks."

"I'm not going to give you twenty bucks!"

"Guys!" Sy said loudly, and both cat hybrids stopped arguing to look at him. "In case that message didn't process, you should know we have a bit of a problem now."

"Oh," Frankie said. He frowned. "Right."

"Why d'you think she's sticking around?" Joey asked Sy, folding his arms. "You didn't say anything to her, did you?"

"When would I have had time?"

Joey shrugged. "We left after you went into the room so we could double back and follow Con. Nobody was watching you."

"I didn't say anything," Sy said firmly. "I just gave her the key and left. Now come on, we should find her before anybody else does."

* * *

"It's a dead end," Max called back in a whisper. "There's only a fan up here."

"Hm." I scratched my head as she came crawling back to the rest of us, where we were waiting around the vent into another lab. "Wrong turn, then. Unless the room under us has an outer wall."

"Then why are we still up here?" Iggy asked in a whisper. At first I ignored him, until he pinched my leg and asked again. "Hey. Why don't we just go down into that room, bust a hole in the wall, and leave?"

"Just wait a second." I looked down into the room below us, eyes flicking back and forth in search of any sign that this led to the outside.

It looked like a high school Chemistry labratory, with about eight lab stations arranged in rows throughout the room, with one long countertop running along two of the walls, storage units and file cabinets and a bank of computers along the other walls. It was pretty much empty, and. . ._oh, my God, a window!_ Granted, a small window that we'd have to crawl out of one at a time, but still. Through its glass I could see the darkness of the Chicago night, and it had never looked better.

I scanned the room again, looking for any living thing that might've been looking for us. I saw a bug crawling around under a stool, but doubted it was looking for us. So I opened the vent and stuck my head down into the room and looked around a third time, this time for any cameras that could be watching.

There was one right next to the vent, in the corner of the room. It looked like I was in a blind spot, but just to be safe, I used my key to saw through the wires connecting it to the ceiling. The flashing red light blinked out, and I knew it wasn't feeding video anymore.

I sat back up and grinned at the flock. "Good news, guys. There's a window down here."

There were near-silent cheers and I bowed my head. "Thank you, thank you, I know, I'm awesome."

Max rolled her eyes. "Sure, Spark." But she was trying not to smile. "Let's just get out of here already."

"You got it." I dropped my legs through the hole and lowered myself down, having to drop the last three feet. I landed lightly on the balls of my feet and scanned the room again, for anything I might've missed. Whups--two bugs under that stool. Oh well.

I looked up toward the ceiling and beckoned with my hand. "Come on. It's safe."

Max dropped down first, and then Iggy. As Max caught the little kids as they came down, Iggy and I went over to check out the window.

"Uh-oh," I said. "Chicken wire."

"Hm. That could be a little problem," he replied with a straight face. I laughed once and started looking around for anything that could help us break the window with the least amount of noise and injury. I went so far as to rifle through (and mix up the contents of) all the drawers in all the lab stations.

"Anything?" Iggy asked, feeling around in the cabinets beneath the station I was currently sabotaging. Next geeks who tried to turn on this Bunsen burner would get blasted with a generous helping of some weird, blue, gross-smelling stuff that had the consistency of ketchup.

"Nah." I switched a few labels on some beakers and sighed. "I'll just check the drawers, though, and if I can't find anything we'll just have to. . ."

I stopped mid-sentence as I opened the smallest drawer on the station. _Oh, man._

"We'll just have to what?" Iggy asked, but I barely heard him. "Spark?"

The drawer was filled with vials and syringes of bright orange serum. Hypermaladrine. There were even labels on all the tubes, so there was no mistake.

"Spark, what's up--_ow!_" The drawer bounced as Iggy bonked his head against it. I jumped and shut the drawer quickly so he could stand up, rubbing his head. "Ow. You could've warned me."

"Right. Sorry." I opened the drawer again and hesitated, staring at the drug that had caused me to black out for a day and a half. (Well, Ariel's knocking me out had something to do with it, but still.

"What's in the drawer that spooked ya?" Iggy asked, reaching into the drawer. "A dead rat?"

"Why would they keep a dead rat in a drawer?" I asked, watching him as he picked up a vial of hypermaladrine.

" 'Cuz they're weird. What am I holding?"

"A vial."

Iggy rolled his eyes and I smirked. "No duh. What's in it?"

"A drug." I reached for it, but he held it out of my reach. "Hey!"

"What kind of drug?" he demanded. "Why do you want it?"

" 'Cuz it's coke and I need my fix," I said sarcastically. I stopped trying to get the vial in Iggy's hand and went to the drawer, whereupon I started taking the vials and syringes and needles and everything else I'd need to be able to turn myself into Super Spark.

"No, really. What is it?"

Max and the others had started wandering around the room--Fang was at the door on lookout, but everyone else began to listen in on what Iggy and I were saying.

"It's called hypermaladrine. They gave it to me yesterday and I don't know _what_ happened, but it scared them. After that they assigned me bodyguards to take me from place to place, so I think it makes me mega-powerful or something. So I'm taking it partly to screw with them, partly to have a backup in case we're attacked again."

"Wait, how do you know it's not dangerous?" Max asked.

"I think the point is that it _is_ dangerous," I said bluntly. "When they gave it to me, I blacked out, but they told me somebody had to knock me unconscious to get me back under control."

"But what if, like, what if it made you evil or something?" Nudge said. "Or what if it just knocked you out? They could've been lying to you. They did that to us once, they said everything we'd ever done was a dream, but it turned out they were lying just to mess with us and. . ."

"No, I know it's good if we have it," I said, interrupting her. "Something I did must've freaked them out, 'cuz they said I'd have to have bodyguards until it wore off. Besides, if they give it to the anti-flock then they'll be way more powerful, and we probably wouldn't be able to beat them."

"Spark. . ." Max began warningly, but then she stopped as loud barks echoed from the hallway.

Everybody froze, eyes popping wide in six identical deer-in-the-headlights looks. Total, being a dog, couldn't pull it off quite as well, but he still looked scared. Slowly, we all looked toward the door, where Fang was still as a statue.

He held up a hand in a gesture for "wait."

_No, actually I think I'll panic. When in fear, when in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout._

Silently, Fang backed away from the door and came over to us. His hand moved at the speed of light to sign a message at us--_somebody coming. Dogs. Need to leave now._

Not even in sign language did he speak in complete sentences.

Careful of the clinking, I set down the bottles of hypermaladrine. I ripped open a needle and filled a syringe with about five milligrams. If thirty milligrams had made me black out, I wanted to use as small an amount as possible to prevent that from happening again.

Max touched my arm and I looked up at her. She shook her head, mouthing, _Don't do it. They might leave._

I shook my own head in return, mouthing, _I have to. It'll get us out._

She drew back, looking worried, and I found a rubber strip, which I tied off on my left arm. Then I found a vein and pressed the needle to my skin.

Iggy suddenly went still, whispering, "Crap."

A dog started up its baying again and the door flew open.

* * *

The dog, a one-year-old foxhound called Gypsy, had started to really pull on the leash, which had alerted Ariel to the fact that Spark was nearby again. When the hound had started to bark and jump at one of the doors, she knew that Spark was inside.

She found Spark toward the back of the room, with a rubber tie on her arm and a syringe of orange liquid a millimeter away from her skin. The Cali group kids were crowded around her, dressed in the exact same attire--black shorts, black shirts, black socks. They looked like escaped gym students or something.

Ariel dropped the dog's leash and lunged for the nearest lab station. She grabbed a beaker and flung it as Gypsy darted across the floor, barking up a storm.

The beaker flew high, soaring over Spark's head and exploding against the wall behind her, but it caught her attention. She dropped her hypermaladrine and yelled, "Scatter!"

The mutants all split apart, though Spark just ducked, dragging the tallest boy down with her behind a lab station. Gypsy found her easily and Ariel heard Spark's distressed cries as the dog no doubt started jumping at her, trying to lick her face.

Ariel took two steps to the left and picked up a phone bolted to the wall. She jammed her finger against the intercom button and said, "I found them! Lab Hall Six, Room Four!"

Her voice echoed throughout the entire building, and there were distant sounds of dogs barking, scientists yelling, and feet running.

Ariel tried to turn around, but before she could she was slammed into the wall, someone grabbing her arm and twisting it up her back. She shrieked in pain.

"You _really _screwed up right then, you know that?" a girl snarled in her ear. Ariel guessed it was the leader of the Cali group, Maximum Ride. "You just made it that much harder for me to leave you unhurt while we escaped."

"B-bring it, bitch!" Ariel snapped, raising her heeled foot and stomping down. Ride anticipated it, though, and leaped back. But it gave Ariel an opportunity to twist out of Ride's grip and whirl around, fists flying.

Like the other fish hybrids, Ariel's combat training hadn't been too extensive. Basic attacks and defensive maneuvers, and that was about it. Moved on to stress exercises, working under pressure, and speed training. Ride was able to dodge all of Ariel's punches easily, and delivered a quick roundhouse kick before Ariel knew what had happened.

She was thrown back against the wall, so dazed she slid down to the floor in a crumpled heap with spots dancing across her vision.

She heard a new volley of barking. Intermixed with the deep barks of Gypsy were colorful curses from the little black mutant, the dog with wings.

_"Roh! Roh! Rrroh!"_

"Get back, you primitive mongrel! Back, before I bite your legs off!"

Gypsy yelped, as if kicked. Then Spark's shrill voice.

"Iggy! Don't _kick_ him!"

"He's _attacking_ us!" came Iggy's reply. "I'll kick him all I wanna kick him!"

"Never again!" Spark snapped. "Ever! Now get back, I'm gonna blast the window open!"

Ariel shook herself and tried to get up. If there was a window, the freaks could escape. She had to stop them.

Stupid Ride. . .Ariel gritted her teeth against the pain in her ribs and found the wall phone again. "I need some _help _in here! Dylan! Con! Frankie! _NOW!!_"

"Fang! Get her off the phone!" Ride snapped.

The phone was kicked out of her hand and Ariel whirled again, only to get punched in the face. She howled, hands flying to her face as she felt blood spurt from her nose.

"Sorry," a voice sneered. "Your phone priviledges are restricted. One call only." Then there was a smashing noise, and Ariel guessed the phone had been destroyed.

But she heard something in the hall: _fwip, fwip, fwip_. "T-too late," she stuttered. "Dylan's coming."

* * *

My ears pricked up when I heard Sy's real name, and the syringe of hypermaladrine stopped again. I peeked my head around the corner of the lab station just as he arrived, the wind that'd been chasing him gusting through the room as it caught up to his speed. Unusually, his chest was heaving, and with a small twinge of guilt I remembered his ribs were broken. Running had probably hurt him.

"S-Sy?" I heard Nudge squeak. "Wh-what are you doing here? I thought they'd killed you!"

_Huh?_ I thought, but then I realized: Sy had probably gone back for the flock. The whitecoats had probably sent him out to bring them in, and he must've put on quite a show for them to come here and get kidnapped. I'd have to get that story later. But not now.

I stood up and faced the door. Sy's eyes widened when he saw me, and I almost smiled, but then he barely shook his head. Oh. . .so I got to act now too, huh? He was going to remain the bad guy for a while? For intel? I quickly changed gears.

"Don't go near him, guys!" I yelled. I dropped my syringe and picked up a random test tube. "He's with them!" I hurled my projectile 'cross the room at Sy, but he ducked and vanished. Instantly he was behind me, grabbing my arms and pulling me backwards. I squirmed. "Hey! Lemme go!"

"Not a chance," he snapped. He tugged my arm up my back and I yelped, even though it didn't hurt. "You're not leaving!"

"Let her go!" Iggy shouted, springing away from the lab station and swinging his legs. I tried to avoid it, and so did Sy, but we both failed--Iggy's foot slammed into Sy's ankles and he fell back, dragging me down on top of him. I tried to roll away but banged my head on the leg of the single stool in the room. _Ow! Oh. Hello, bugs. Still crawling around under here, then? Thought you'd've left by now._

"Dylan!" I heard Ariel shriek, and then Fang grunted in pain. The fish girl's heels clacked over the tiled floor and Max cried, "Grab her!", but nobody did, 'cuz suddenly Ariel was yanking me up off the floor, backhanding me so hard I stumbled to the side and fell to my knees. I heard the flock try to rush Ariel, but then I heard gunshots and looked to the door: the anti-flock had arrived. _Oh, yay. And I thought this was going to be boring._

A sharp blow came to my back and I fell forward, the outline of a hand flaring painfully between my shoulder blades. I practically growled as I got up and turned to glare at Ariel. "Stop. . .f*cking. . .slapping me."

She scowled at me, her otherwise pretty face twisting into an ugly representation of fury. "Then stay. Away. From. Dylan."

I laughed coldly. "Oh, grow up. He doesn't _like_ you, he doesn't like anybody!" I lied. Ariel's ruby-red eyes flared bright with rage. "He just uses people!"

"You would know!" she snarled at me, and that did it. I sprang up and tackled her, anger making me senseless as I did my best to pound her stupid little head into the gritty tiled floor.

But let me say: Ariel's fighting skills may have been rudimentary at best, but there's nothing better than rage at the opponent to fuel your actions. She defensively crossed her arms over her face, and as I tried to yank them away so I could get at her face, she bucked beneath me and threw me off. I rolled away and crashed into the bottom of the counter that ran along the back wall. I was about to get up when something hard cracked into my back so hard I cried out. _Holy mother! She kicked me with her stupid heel!_

She kicked me again, and again, and again, all in quick succession, like she was trying to stomp me to death. Maybe she was.

When she finally stopped, I hurt all over, and the back of my shirt felt wet. I was probably bleeding. But I ignored the pain and pushed away from the counter, getting to my knees. There was a quick _click_ of stilettos on the floor and then the stool I'd seen before flew over my head, flying into a sink embedded in the countertop with a giant _crash!_

"Holy shit!" I cried, jumping to my feet and whirling around, wide-eyed. Water from the busted-up sink sprayed my back. "You threw the f*cking _stool?!_"

Ariel looked downright insane, silver hair all messed up, shoulders heaving, ruby eyes glowing, fingertips covered in pointed silver caps. _Uh-oh. Bad news._

I barely had time to brace myself as she launched herself at me, screeching something I didn't catch. Her silvery fingers caught me 'round the neck and propelled me backwards, slamming me into the ledge of the countertop. Ariel bent me backwards over the counter and began to strangle me, reminding me horribly of when Sy had tried to do the same thing on that dock, what felt like a lifetime ago.

What with the spray from the broken sink and the noise of everybody crying and yelling and shooting guns and breaking stuff, I began to wonder if we were really going to get out of this one. I caught a single, violence-filled image as Ariel pulled me up and slammed me down again, cracking my head on the marble countertop. I'd seen Max and Con in hand-to-hand, taking turns delivering punches and kicks; Fang reeling backwards into a storage unit as Blaze threw a ball of fire at him; Iggy and Sy on the floor, with Iggy on top and attempting to punch Sy's face in; Nudge using the side of a lab station as a springboard to launch herself at Avi; the Gasman, young face a mask of determination, pushing Shadow into a file cabinet so hard the top drawer burst open and fell on Shadow's head; and Angel, crying out something about not being able to control Swift's mind as the hawk-footed boy yanked her down from the air and pulled her into a headlock. I even saw Total grappling with the dog Ariel had brought into the room, using his wings to dive-bomb the larger foxhound from the air. I clawed at the hands around my neck, but to no avail. Ariel was holding on tight, and the edges of my vision were starting to go gray and fuzzy.

Then there was a loud _bang!_ and the hands loosened. Ariel screamed and something that was warm, wet, and definitely _not_ water sprayed over me. I slapped her hands away and gasped for breath, sitting upright and wincing as my back pained me.

"_Watch _it, Blaze!" Con yelled, ducking a punch from Max and flinging an empty beaker at the aptly-named controller of fire. Fang chopped his hand down on Blaze's wrist and the smoking gun fell from her hand and to the floor with a clatter I barely heard over all the other noise. "You could've killed her!"

"This kid dodged!" Blaze shrieked back, arms blazing up with fire. Fang jumped back so as not to get burned. "I missed!"

"Don't do it again!" Con snapped, but then he fell as Max finally got in a kick at him.

Something hooked into my shirt and I was yanked downwards, met with an open-handed blow that sliced open my face right beneath the eye. I cried out in pain and scrambled backwards as blood poured down my cheek.

It was Ariel--she was bleeding profusely from the shoulder, and had one hand gripped over the wound, but she was still fighting mad. With an effort that I hoped caused her much pain, she lurched to her feet and raised her foot, ready to imaple me with her heel.

I rolled out of the way, and the stomp overbalanced the fish girl. I swung around and lashed out with my leg, catching Ariel in the ankles and sending her tumbling to the floor. She cracked her head on the edge of the countertop as she went down, and didn't get up, which was all right with me.

_The hypermaladrine,_ a voice suddenly chimed in my head, and I remembered. I kept low to the floor so the others couldn't see me as I darted across to the center lab station, where I'd found the stuff.

The needle was still on the floor, untouched, and I picked it up. I'd lost my rubber tie in the scuffle with Ariel, so rummaged in the cabinet until I found another one. I tied it around my arm and, before anything else happened that would otherwise distract and stop me, I plunged the needle into my vein and jammed my thumb into the piston, injecting myself with five milligrams of bright orange hypermaladrine.

* * *

Newell and four other scientists--Drs. North, Macmillan, and Stadtfield, the three that had tested Spark, plus Marein Westerfield--had been slow to respond to Ariel's call over the intercom, having been in the basement creation labs four floors below at the time. The elevator door had been jammed as well, so they'd had to take the stairs.

They arrived at the pinnacle of the fighting.

Constantine was battling Maximum Ride, and it was a pretty even match. When Con refrained from using his skill of torturing his opponent's mind, Newell wondered why, until he heard the cries of the youngest of the Cali Group, Subject Eleven. Then he realized the little girl must've used her own mental powers of mind control to keep him from using it. _Smart kid,_ he thought absently.

The others were all evenly matched as well, paired with their most likely candidate: Blaze with Ride's second-in-command, Avi with the black girl, Shadow with the nine-year-old, and Swift--whose mind could not be read or controlled--with Subject Eleven. Newell even thought he saw a couple of dogs in the corner, and spotted Marein's son in a scrap with the blind boy of Ride's flock.

But where was Spark?

The air tingled with electric discharge and one of the scientists had just enough time to tackle the others to the floor as a lightning bolt the size of a baseball bat flew across the room at them. Newell cursed silently and looked up.

Spark was standing by one of the center lab stations, her hair crackling with tiny black sparks, her eyes suddenly and completely dark. Said dark eyes fell on Newell, and the girl smirked. She held up an empty syringe and wiggled it between forefinger and thumb. Newell squinted and read the label on the needle--hypermaladrine.

Shit--how much had she given herself? The more she had in her system, the more powerful she would be, and the less control she would have over that power. He hurriedly got to his feet, hand plunging into the pocket of his lab coat for the anti-serum. . .but he didn't have it. Dammit, he'd put it back when they'd set the termination time, and hadn't had time to obtain more once she escaped.

"Everybody down!" Spark called out, dropping her syringe and raising her hand. The lights flickered on and off as red crackles of electricity danced up Spark's arm to gather in her palm. "Look away and cover your ears!"

_Retained sense of self,_ the scientific part of Newell's brain said. _Less than twenty milligrams, then._

Once a good-sized ball of light had pooled in Spark's hand, she spun around and flung it at the single window in the room. It went straight toward the glass. . .and stuck fast. Newell barely had time to be confused before he was pulled back to the floor and the ball of light exploded.

Everybody's ears popped, whether they'd covered them or not, and the light had seared through even the protection of closed eyelids. Then, the floor-shaking, bone-rattling, stomach-jolting _BOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!_

A stunned, ringing silence that caused an intense throbbing in the ears and temples of the five human scientists.

And then, just before the pain in his head and ears knocked him out, Newell heard:

"R-report!"

* * *

He heard Max start to cough uncontrollably, and was only then aware of the thick amount of gray dust in the air. Sy painfully got up to his knees and started to cough as well, each breath filled with choking dust that only caused more coughing. It hurt his still-mending ribs to hack that hard, but he couldn't stop.

A hand touched his back and pushed him back to the floor. He twisted around and glanced over his shoulder, but it was only Spark. She put a finger to her lips and shook her head, telling him to lay low. He _was_ still pretending to be evil, after all.

Even though her eyes were dark and cruel from the hypermaladrine, her expression was relieved. _Are you okay?_ she mouthed. He nodded at her, and she smiled. Even now, when she was dusted with gray powder and bleeding from a deep scratch in her cheek, she was just. . .

"Report!" Max repeated. "Guys, where are you?"

Just to Sy's right, Iggy stirred. He kicked away the plaster that had fallen on him and sat up, shaking his head out to rid it of dust. "That was wicked!" he said, sounding practically ecstatic. "Like, better than Florida! Like, _thirteen_ on the explosion scale of one to ten!"

"Totally!" the Gasman cried, and Spark and Sy turned to see the nine-year-old spring up energetically, a delighted grin on his face. "That was _so awesome_, Spark!"

Spark laughed. "Thanks. But without the hypermaladrine I couldn't've done it."

"And if you hadn't done it, we wouldn't be filthier than street cats," Total said grumpily. The little dog crawled out from under a broken cabinet door, and surprisingly, the dog Ariel had used to track them down came out as well. It sneezed and shook out its fur before plopping down on its rear, panting happily.

"Oh, my God, it's going to take _forever_ to get this out of my hair," Nudge complained, picking her way away from an unconscious Avi and running her fingers through her hair. "Max, can we go back to Taj's and take showers? Please?"

"They know where his place is," Fang said quietly, shifting a fallen storage cabinet off of his legs. "We need to get away."

"Angel?" Max called, sounding nervous. "Where are you, sweetie?"

"I'm here, Max," the little girl said, appearing from behind a lab station. She smiled widely and said, "Everybody else is unconscious. We can get away now!"

Sy glanced around the room discreetly, hoping nobody would look his way and realize he was awake. He realized Angel was right--the human scientists at the door, of course, didn't have the same endurance the mutants had. And it was just by sheer luck that Con and his flock had been in all the wrong places: near filing cabinets, under heavy chunks of fallen ceiling. They were all out.

And, in the back wall, there was a jagged hole the size of an elephant, just begging to be used for an escape route.

"You bet, Angel," Max said, smiling. She wiggled her shoulders and half-unfolded her wings. "Everybody good to go?" She got enthusiastic cries of agreement and raised her fist. "Then let's blow this joint!"

She took a running start and leaped out of the hole in the wall, spreading her fourteen-foot wings and pumping hard to gain altitude. She was followed by the Gasman, Nudge, Fang, Iggy, and Angel.

"Come on, Sparky," Total said, shaking out his own coat and spreading his black wings. "Time to go."

"Just wait a second," Spark said. She stood up and looked around, soon finding what she was looking for: Con's unconscious body. As always, the boy had been wearing a black nylon jacket, something Spark liberated from him and put on. She found Blaze and stole the girl's gun before coming back to the lab station to stuff the pockets with syringes and vials of hypermaladrine. She zipped the pockets closed and hesitated, looking down at Sy.

Sy rolled over onto his back and folded his hands behind his head, looking up at her. Already her eyes were changing back to normal--the blue-black was fading from the whites of her eyes, and the irises were intermingled with golden brown.

"Just go," he said. Then he smiled. "I'll catch up with you."

Spark smiled and nudged him playfully with her foot. "See ya later, Fish Boy."

"Sparky!" Total said impatiently. If he thought anything was strange about what had just happened, he didn't say so. "Let's go!"

"I'm _coming_, Totally," Spark replied, rolling her eyes. The dog _hmph_ed and jumped into the air, wings beating fast to catch up to the others, and Sy rolled over to watch Spark follow when the foxhound, Gypsy, stood up and whined. Spark stumbled and nearly fell out of the fourth floor. She whirled and looked at the dog in confusion.

"Uh. . .what?" she asked the dog. "What do you want?"

The dog whined again, big brown eyes looking incredibly sad.

Spark fidgeted. "Uh. . .but. . .Oh, all_ right!_" She dashed back across the room, gathered the dog into her arms, and leaped out the hole in the wall, spotted wings unfurling to catch the early-morning air as she finally, _finally _made her escape from the Factory, with a stolen jacket, a stolen gun, an unknown amount of stolen hypermaladrine, and a stolen _dog_ in tow.

Sy chuckled as he watched her go.

_Only Spark,_ he thought.

* * *

yay! chapter 42 is done! and let me tell you, it was way fun to write.

so? how was it?


	43. Chapter 43

okay. so, on the advice of a friend, i've decided to end this epic tale.

but don't worry. i'm already working on a sequel. (if you want one, that is.)

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**43. on the road again. . .**_

Have I ever mentioned how sweet the three-thirty-in-the-morning air of Chicago smells? Well, in case I haven't, let me tell you, it smells _great_. Full of smog and car exhaust and garbage and. . ._ahhhh_. Smells like freedom.

The dog in my arms squirmed again, so once again I shifted my arms to get a better grip. His extra weight slowed me down some, but Total was nice enough to stay near me until we caught up with the others.

"So why'd you take the mutt?" he asked, tilting his wings to fly over me. I took a deep breath.

"I highly doubt he's a mutt," I replied. "He tracked us down, didn't he? He's probably a really good bloodhound. Isn't that right, boy?" I said, scratching the dog's head. He whined happily, twisting his head around to lick my face. "And he's so cute! I just couldn't resist."

"He says his name's Gypsy," Total said, with a tone that made me think he was rolling his eyes. Can dogs even do that? Not sure.

"You understood that?"

"I _am_ a dog," Total sniffed. "I should be able to speak my native tongue, now shouldn't I?"

"Um. . .sure," I said uneasily. "If you say so."

"Spark! Total! Come on, hurry up!" Max called. I looked up and found her with the rest of the flock a couple dozen yards above us. I tilted my wings and soared up to meet them.

"Hey, guys," I said as I came level with them. I smiled as if nothing had happened. Like, oh, I didn't just blow up a wall. We didn't just escape from the most hellish place I'd ever been in my short life. "What's up?"

The first thing they saw--of course--was Gypsy. The younger kids all "awwww"ed and tried to get close to pet him, but the older mutants were much less amused.

"Um. . .what's with the dog?" Fang asked.

"Dog. Hmm. What dog?" I looked around theatrically, then faked a look of surprise and pointed at Total. "You mean this dog?"

Fang rolled his eyes and Max frowned. "No, _that_ dog." She pointed. "The one you're holding."

"_Oohhhh_." I scratched Gypsy's head and he squirmed happily. "This is Gypsy. I rescued him from the Factory."

"Spark, we can_ not_ have another dog."

"Yeah!" Total agreed enthusiastically. "There's only room for _one_ canine in _this _family!"

"Oh, I know, I know," I replied, rolling my eyes. "But I wasn't just gonna _leave_ him there. I was planning to leave him with Cody and Beck and Taj. That okay?"

"It's dangerous to go back there," Max said, crossing her arms. "They know where it is. We have to get away while we can still get a head start."

"But if they know where Taj's house, we _have_ to go back," I said. "Even if it's only for a little bit, to warn them. I don't want Con and Blaze going back for them!"

She seemed to see the logic in that, and gave up. "Fine then. Ten minutes to ditch the dog and warn everybody." Max let out a breath, and then smiled. "Nice to see everybody's okay."

" 'Tis, 'tisn't it?" I said, smiling. "And nice to be out of there, too." I glanced around at the flock and saw some healing injuries that hadn't been there before my capture. "By the way, we should exchange life stories later. I'd like to know how you guys got captured."

"Yeah, we need to hear your story, too," Nudge said. "Like, after you left, Sy came back saying you'd been kidnapped, and that he knew where the Factory was, so we should follow him so we could go save you and then this girl showed up with Con and Blaze and then they shot Sy and then. . ."

"Okay, okay, you don't need to tell me everything," I said, holding up a hand to stop her babbling. "Right now we should focus on getting out of here. Right, Max?"

"Oh. Uh. . .right." Max seemed surprised that I was actually focusing on the important things for once, but soon got over it. "And, uh, I've been thinking about what our next move should be, and. . ."

She suddenly stopped talking, and I, for one, was mega-confused. I looked at the others, and Nudge said to me, "It's probably the Voice. You know, the one she has in her head?"

"Oh. Uh, sure." I remembered them telling me about it--the mysterious "Voice" in Max's head, telling her what to do and stuff like that. I swear she's not schizo! . . .I don't think.

Fang flapped his wings once and moved closer to Max. He touched her shoulder and she blinked. "Max?"

"Uh. . .we need to go to South Carolina," she said uncertainly. "It said. . .well, I guess my mom's there. It gave me a number to call and contact her."

"Another reason to go to Taj's!" I said, falsely enthusiastic as I punched the air. "He's got a phone."

"Right," Max said grudgingly. "I guess we really _do_ have to go back."

* * *

The door opened and shut, causing Taj to jump up from where he'd been dozing at the table. He immediately got to his feet and rushed to the kitchen, the sounds of Cody and Beck thundering down the stairs unnaturally loud in the otherwise quiet house.

He got to the kitchen just as the newcomers did.

Nikki. And Max and Fang and the others.

They looked rather worse for the wear, dusted with gray powder, bruised, cut-up, but still. They were all alive and in one piece.

Before Taj could react further, two blurs rushed past him, heading straight for Nikki. She went wide-eyed and dropped the dog she'd been holding as Cody and Beck both hugged her at the same time.

"NIK!" they cried in unison.

"Guys, get off, get off!" Nikki said, half-laughing, half-annoyed. "I've only been gone a couple days!"

"_Only_ a _couple?_" Cody echoed as he and Beck stepped back from their cousin. "Nik, we were worried sick!"

"What the hell happened, where were you?!" Beck demanded.

As much as Taj wanted to talk to Nik himself, he decided to wait. Besides, Max was coming towards him, the others swarming past him to retrieve their things from upstairs. He turned to Max as she drew near. "Whatcha need, Max?"

"A phone," she replied curtly. "I need to call my mom."

"Sure." Taj reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell, handing it to Max without another thought. "If she's not in Chicago you have to dial an area code."

"Thanks." Max hesitated, then dialed a number. She wandered off towards the living room, holding the phone to her ear. Taj watched her go before crossing the kitchen to Nikki.

"Hey," he said, cutting in on the conversation she'd been having with her cousins. "So what happened, Nik? You and Sy went for a walk and never came back."

"Oh. Well, uh. . .it's a long story." She laughed nervously. "And I can't say it all right now, we actually have to get going."

"Whaa?!"

* * *

I winced as Cody and Beck practically yelled in my ears, then looked up at the two of them, on either side of Taj. "Guys, I'm sorry, but I really have to leave. And you guys need to clear out of here as fast as possible, too."

"Why?" Taj asked, narrowing his eyes. "Did somebody. . .?"

"They've been tracking me," I said, looking down. Gypsy nosed at my hand and I petted his head. "I ditched the chip back at the F--at that place, but they still know where this house is. You have to leave it, and never come back."

Taj sighed, crossing his arms. "Ah well. Can't be helped, I guess." He tilted his head back, to where Max was re-entering the room with a phone in her hand. "Why's Max callin' her mom?"

"New, uh, mission, I guess you could call it," I said. I shrugged. "Looks like we're going to South Carolina to meet up with her mom for something."

"Geez, South _Carolina_?" Beck let out a breath and put his hands behind his head, trying to keep the worry from his face. "For how long?"

"No idea. Sorry."

"Hey, Taj?" We all looked toward the kitchen doorway, where Nudge was waiting. "Can we take some food for when we go?"

"Oh, uh, sure." Taj turned and went to the pantry. "Come here and we'll see what you can have."

We watched Taj transfer food from the pantry to all the packs Nudge had brought down, until Cody spoke up. "Hey, uh, Nik. . .?"

I looked at him, then blinked at the weird look in his eyes. Like. . .he was sad, but also not. Understanding? I couldn't quite place it. . . "Whatever happened to you yesterday--and whatever you're going to do when you leave--you can't tell us about it, can you?"

_Man does he know me. _"N-no, I can't. I'm sorry, but. . .maybe when it's all over."

The twins looked at each other, communticating silently for a second or two before looking back at me. Beck grinned and ruffled my hair.

"Ah, that's all right. We can wait."

I laughed once. "Thanks, Beckers. And. . .you can't tell _anybody _you saw me, you know," I added, looking from one to the other. They'd always been close to me, to my brother and sister, so close that we exchanged emails and texts and phonecalls almost every day.

"Saw who?" Beck asked, tilting his head innocently.

"Yeah, what are you _talking _about?" Cody said.

My eyes stung and I smiled before throwing my arms around their necks in a strangling hug. "You guys are awesome," I whispered, resting my head between their shoulders. "I can't wait until this is all over so I can come back and tell you the whole story." And I would, too--I'd tell them everything. Wings, kidnappings, skills, everything.

"Oh, come on, don't worry about us."

"Yeah, we'll keep your secret, stop freaking. 'Sides, we got plans, remember?"

"March thirteenth, 2014," I laughed. Two years ago, during one of our late-night wanderings around the neighborhood. . . "Twenty-one and twenty-two!"

"Epic plans, cuz," Beck said, twisting around and putting me in a headlock. He dragged his knuckles through my hair in a noogie. "Bikes, booze, and tattoos!"

"Ow, ow, lemme go, lemme go!" I protested, tugging on his arm. "Cody, help me!"

Cody laughed, yet did nothing, and Gypsy started to bark in excitement, jumping up at me and Beckers as I wriggled out of my cousin's grasp. I grabbed Beck's wrist and twisted it up his back, crying, "HA! Owned!"

"Ow!" he yelped.

"Flag! Illegal maneuver!" Cody said, suddenly coming up behind me. He poked me in the ribs so I let go of Beck, then wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug. "Penalty game!"

"Wha. . .?" Beck whirled around, eyes alight with mischief, and attacked, hands curled into claws that tickled my sides.

"AHH! No fair, no fair!" I squirmed, laughing, and Gypsy started going nuts. Beck backed off, snickering, and Cody let me go. Gypsy rushed me, tail wagging and whining deep in his throat. I crouched down and started petting his short, brown/white/black coat.

"Who's this?" Cody asked, kneeling down beside me and holding out his hand. Gypsy nosed it for a second, then dragged his long pink tongue over Cody's palm.

"This is Gypsy," I said, scratching the dog under the chin. He sat down and thumped his tail on the kitchen floor. I looked up as Beck, too, knelt down to pet the dog. "Think you two could keep him for a while?"

"Aww, he's so cute. 'Course we can!" Beck said, patting Gypsy's back. "We'll tell Mom and Dad we found him on the street or something."

"Thanks." I laughed as Gypsy licked my face, then winced as his tongue caught the cut on my cheek. I pushed him away, hand flying to my cheekbone. "Ahhhh. . .oww!"

"Dude, what happened?" Cody asked, looking at me in concern.

"J-just a scratch. I'll take care of it." I stood up and went to one of the kitchen drawers, where I found a knife. I held it up so I could check out my reflection.

_Geez! _The wound seemed to throb as I saw with my own eyes just how nasty it was. Blood stained my cheek in a thick red waterfall, and the cut itself was definitely deep enough to leave a scar.

I put the knife back in its drawer and paused, trying to regain my thoughts. Just how had I gotten caught up in all this? That's right. . .a random alley mugging. The rest was just as coincidental--I just _happened_ to land in the forest where the flock were camping out, just _happened_ to look in the right direction when the Flyboys came after us, just _happened_ to tell Max about wanting to go to Salt Lake. Just _happened_ to trust Sy and leave. Just _happened _to run into the anti-flock as I searched for the others. Just _happened_ to run into Sy again, and just _happened_ to agree to come back to Chicago.

Ah, who was I kidding? There's no such thing as coincidence.

"Spark?"

A hand came down on my shoulder and I looked back at Iggy.

"Ready to go? Max wants to leave as soon as possible," he said.

I let out a breath. "Yeah. Let's go."

* * *

He, Taj, and Beck all followed Nikki and the others out onto the roof as they prepared to leave. Even Nik's dog, Gypsy, went along, sticking close to Cody's side.

"You guys are going to leave this house, right?" Max asked Taj as she and the others shouldered their packs, preparing for takeoff.

Taj nodded. "Soon as it gets light. We'll tell our regulars that we've moved, but otherwise try to stay low. You guys keep cool, aight?"

"Uh. . .sure," Max said. She turned to her friends and asked, "Ready? We're heading south."

"Okay, Max," said Nudge. "But can we say bye first?"

Before Max could say no, Nudge and Angel went around to hug Taj and the twins, saying goodbye and that they'd miss them and that they hoped they'd see them again. The boys kept their distance a little, nodding or waving in a typical guy-like fashion, and Max let down her guard enough to smile.

"Later, guys," Fang said, and then he opened his dark wings and jumped off the building. Iggy followed, and then the kids, and Max, and Total. The boys got quite a shock when the little dog opened his wings and called back, "Farewell, boys!"

Nikki laughed at their faces, then went around and hugged them all one last time. "Again, I'll explain everything some other time."

"Uh. . .r-right," Beck stuttered.

Cody smiled. "Now go on, you. Unfurl them wings and go after 'em."

Nikki seemed surprised, but then shook her head. "Guess I'm not as good a secret-keeper as I thought. Ah well." She backed up, snapping open her own wings. She waved a final time, then turned and jumped into the air.

Cody watched her go, studying her wings until she was too far away for him to make out anymore. They were amazing, spotted brown and white and fourteen feet wide. She was really something, his cousin.

"So. . .you guys knew too?" Beck asked, looking to the sky just like Taj and Cody. "Neither of you look surprised."

"First night you brought her here," Taj said. "Saw her back was curved weird and checked when yous all fell asleep."

"Water balloon fight," Cody said, folding his hands behind his head. "When we were thirteen, and Kenny pushed you into that inflatable pool. Remember?"

"Oh. I found out year after that," Beck said. "When we went to their place for summer. Hide and seek with all their friends, I saw her jumping to hide on a roof."

"Ah." He was quiet for a second, until Gypsy started to whine. Cody reached down and scratched the dog's head, between his ears. "How long you think it'll be 'till she comes back?"

"Who knows? Without anybody telling her what to do. . ." Beck began.

Taj chuckled and said, "She's gonna have one hell of a story!"

The twins laughed.

"Got _that_ right!!"

* * *

'kay. so i've been meaning to ask--favorite and least favorite parts of the story. and i want specifics, people, so no "oh, it was all great/awful, i can't decide."

so: favorite chapter, quote, mini-arc, whatever. and least favorite. or any comments about the writing in general. i wish to know what i did right and wrong. please and thank you!

and one last thing--there's a new poll on my profile. favorite OC! (three max)


	44. Chapter 44

. . .oh no. we're getting close to the end. one more chapter after this.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**44. last chapter. . .for real this time**_

"Sooo. . .South Carolina?" Spark said, leaning her cheek on her hand. She wasn't looking at me, but I saw her tension in the way she fiddled nervously with the salt shaker.

"Yep." The waiter suddenly came by with a tray and handed out our drinks; I leaned back and stopped talking until he left.

We were in a small little coffee shop, somewhere in Indiana. It was barely two days since we'd broken out of the Itex in Chicago, the Factory. Fang was currently trying to log on to the place's WiFi, and because nobody was right on our tail for once, I'd decided we should stop, take a quick break, and maybe see if I could hook up a video chat to my mom.

I glanced over my flock, the events leading up to the whole Factory business running fresh in my mind. All that panic we went through when Sy came back and said Spark had been kidnapped, then the thing where Con "shot" him and "killed" him, and then the actual stay in the Factory itself: whitecoats coming in to try and get us to comply to testing, Con and his flock attempting to interrogate us, the escape. You know, the usual.

All in all, though--and for this I was incredibly thankful--we weren't too banged up from it. Of course, we had the normal bumps and bruises, but nobody was truly in pain from a lasting injury. Major plus.

My eyes fell on Spark again, as she accidentally spun the salt shaker too far, causing it to tip over. Tiny white specks tumbled onto the black faux-wood table.

Since the Factory--actually, since we'd met her--Spark had become the definition of mystery to me. I mean, yeah, I knew the basics. Escape at five, adopted at six, perfect life. Until she'd been attacked in an alley, and been forced to run away, where she'd met us. . .and where both our lives had been flipped upside-down. What with the thing at Salt Lake, and with Con's flock, and. . .well, you've been reading this, right? You know what I mean.

Though. . .I couldn't quite decide on whether _we_ had dragged _her_ into all this or if _she_ had dragged_ us_ into it.

For us, this kinda stuff was normal, so just by being with us Spark had jumped on a roller coaster going a million miles an hour through a crazy, whitecoat- and danger-infested Wonderland. However, this Wonderland had gotten especially crazy after Spark had teamed up with us, so I couldn't figure it out. Chicken and the egg.

(And yes, I know how fitting the analogy is.)

Once the waiter was out of earshot and the flock had fallen to their sugar-filled and highly caffeinated drinks, I leaned forward and continued with what I'd been saying prior to his arrival. "Apparently, CSM has another plan for us."

"CSM?" Spark echoed, confused. Total nosed at her hand and she automatically tilted her cup to pour some coffee into the saucer. I had a feeling she was Total's new favorite, because she did just about anything he asked her to do.

"Coalition to Stop the Madness," I explained. "Some group we did air shows for until. . .well, stuff happened." If she wanted to know more, I'd tell her later. "But my mom works for them, and she said this next gig is totally safe."

"Uh-huh," Iggy said skeptically. "And where is this 'safe' place?" He took his hands off his latte to make air quotes around "safe."

"Um. . ." How was I supposed to explain this to them? _We're going out of the country. Deal with it_.

"I'm on," Fang suddenly said, and I gratefully turned to the laptop. As I found the site my mom had given to me over the phone back at Taj's, I overheard Angel ask Spark something I'd been meaning to ask her about myself.

"How long are you going to stay with us?"

"Huh?" Spark seemed startled by the question.

"Ohh, you're not gonna leave, are ya?" Nudge cried, eyes suddenly big and sad. "I mean, you're so totally cool! I'd miss you way too much if you left and went home, but I guess you probably miss your family, right? And they're probably worried about you, too, and I'll bet. . ."

I clicked on the _start chat_ button, and a live feed of my mom and half-sister suddenly popped up on the screen. Loudly, I said, "Hi Mom, hi Ella." Nudge stopped talking and the flock all scrambled up to crowd around behind me and Fang, all eager to see the laptop screen. Total pawed at my leg and complained until Spark picked him up so he could see, too.

"Hi, Max," Mom said, smiling. Her voice sounded all funny through the speakers of the computer. "And hello to the rest of you, too."

"Hi guys!" Ella said brightly, waving from over our mother's shoulder. Her voice was all tinny and weird, too. "I miss you!"

"Well, you won't have to miss us for long," I said, smiling back at them. "We're in Indiana right now, but we're on our way."

"Have you told them?" Mom asked, eyebrows coming together. "About what we talked about?"

"Kinda," I replied evasively. "I've been waiting for the right time."

"Now would be as good as any," she said, and I had to agree. So I didn't stop her as she said, "CSM contacted me about a week ago and asked if the seven of you--and Spark, too--would like to tour Australia."

* * *

". . .Australia," I said finally, the first to break the surprised silence. "We have to go to _Australia?_"

"Well, you don't _have_ to, of course, but it would certainly benefit CSM," Dr. Martinez said reasonably. "And there's nothing I can do to force you. Any of you. But please, I'd like it if you could consider it."

"So, guys?" Max asked, looking around at the flock. "Up for the land down under?"

It took a second, but the flock readily agreed. Not like they had much choice, right? What with being sort of homeless, and being on the run and all. . .

But then they turned to me.

"Spark? You're coming with, right?" Nudge asked.

"Uh. . ." I had to stop and think for a second. What _did_ I want?

I mean, I _could_ go home. I _should_. I should fly back to Colorado and face my family, my friends. Let them know I was alive, that I was okay. It was wrong to keep them in constant worry about me. It'd been wrong to "run away" (for lack of a better term) like I did. They deserved better. They deserved to see me again.

But. . .I couldn't. I couldn't just leave Max. For the first time in my life, I didn't have to pretend. I didn't have to pretend to be normal, didn't have to pretend to be human. I could just be _me_. I could do what I wanted, without any rules or "you can't do that here"s or "that's not normal"s or "try to be human for once"s.

Plus, you know--if I stayed with them long enough--no school.

Ha, ha. Kidding.

Kind of.

"Um. . .I think I'll. . .go with you guys," I said slowly. "If, uh, that's okay."

The kids cheered and hugged me, and even Max smiled. "Sure it's okay. You're one of us now. You're a part of the flock."

For some reason, that touched me. I smiled and laughed, reaching down to knuckle Max's head. "Oh, I'm sure. But I'm gonna tell ya now I'm only coming to annoy the living crap out of ya!"

She batted my hand away, smiling, and Total licked my hand. "You just _have_ to stay, Sparky," he told me. "I don't know _what _I'd do without you. I don't know how I managed before with these uncultured heathens resenting my displays of affection."

I'd been wondering about that--why the flock (Max and Fang in particular) disliked it when Total licked them. I mean, he was a _dog_. That's what they they do.

But I ignored it for the moment, scratching said dog's head as I chuckled. "I'm sure you'd spiral downwards into a mass hysteria coupled with an uncontrollable nervous disorder," I said sarcastically. "But don't worry. You're stuck with me for a while."

Dr. Martinez launched into a long, very detailed explanation of what the trip to Australia would mean, what we'd do there, yadda yadda yadda. . .it was actually quite quickly that I tuned her out in a typical teenage fashion.

I thought back to our escape, mainly about how I felt while on the hypermaladrine. Unlike the first time, I didn't black out. I'd been in total control, aware of everything I said and did. So, in a note to self: less hypermaladrine = good, more hypermaladrine = bad.

I had about twenty vials of the stuff burning holes in my pockets, and my main burning question was _why_. Why had they made it? Joey and Frankie had said it was a performance-enhancer for mutants for some conference in London. What was _that_ about? Were the people funding everything, like, bailing on Itex? Was this one last fling for the die-hards that refused to stop experimenting on children?

And then, of course, my thoughts returned to Sy.

Sy, Sy, Sy. What was I going to do about him? For some reason he wanted the flock to think he wasn't on our side, despite the fact he'd made it obvious to _me_ that he was still totally against the whitecaots. What was he planning? He'd told me he'd catch up, but just when and how was that going to happen?

"--tel tonight, and then we'll head for you in the morning," Max finished saying. "Sound good?"

I blinked and zoned back in on the conversation. I looked down at the laptop screen, where Max's mom and sister were smiling and waving. "We'll see you in a few days, then," Dr. M said. "Bye, Max. I love you."

"I love you too, Mom," Max said, smiling warmly at her mother. "Love you, Ella."

"Love you too, Max! I can't wait to see you guys!" Ella cried.

"Us too!" Nudge said enthusiastically. "I'm, like, so looking forward to talking to you and. . ."

"We'll get there as soon as we can," Max said, overriding Nudge. She closed the chat with a final "Bye!"

"Oh, man, I can't _wait_ to get to your mom's!" the Gasman exclaimed. "We'll get to rest a few days before going to Australia, right?"

"Sure, Gazzy," Max said, ruffling the kid's hair. "As long as we're not running for our lives, I'm sure that can be arranged."

* * *

So we left the cafe and, surprise, I learned Max had a bank card. We found one of those small highway towns and she pulled out some money so we could check into a hotel. We sprung two adjoining rooms--one for the boys, one for the girls. In our room, Nudge and Angel crashed around ten or so, and I offered to take "watch" until two or three in the morning. After Max fell asleep, I flipped through the channels on the TV until I found an old movie and settled in for a boring. . .

_Knock, knock, knock._

I sat up, hitting the mute button on the remote. _The Swan Princess_ went suddenly silent and I waited, ears strained for a second knocking. It didn't come. But that didn't mean I hadn't heard a first knocking.

I looked to my left, but Nudge was fast asleep. And on the other bed, so were Max and Angel. I was the only one awake, the only one privvy to the information that we (possibly) had a midnight visitor. Or two-a.m. visitor. Whatever.

Had I been Max, I would've woken people up, prepared to fight in case it was a whitecoat or a member of the anti-flock at the balcony door. I would've even gone so far as to arm myself with a weapon of some sort.

But guess what? I'm not Max.

So I quietly slipped out of bed and tiptoed over to the sliding glass door. I twitched the curtain aside and peeked out onto the balcony, to check if there really was somebody out there.

There was.

Somebody out there, I mean.

I smiled and laughed to myself._ I should've known. . ._

* * *

place your bets! who's at the door? even if it's kinda obvious. . .

oh, and by the way: i loved the reviews from last chapter. it was nice to get all that feedback--i couldn't stop smiling as i read through it all. you all rock.

(though i'm surprised none of you mentioned the mutant-bird-kid bachelor auction from way back in chapter eight, 'cuz that was definitely one of _my _favorite parts.)


	45. Chapter 45

this is it, guys. it was difficult to write, but. . .it's here.

the last chapter.

i'm sorry.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

* * *

_**epilogue: it ain't over yet**_

I chanced a glance back into the room to be sure the others were still asleep. Then, as softly as possible, I opened the balcony door and slipped outside.

He was leaning against the rail, looking out into the night, looking as if nothing weird had ever happened. Like it was normal to be here, out on the balcony of my hotel room, looking up at the stars. At two-thirty in the morning. Two days after helping me escape from the fourth circle of hell. (If you're wondering why it's not the seventh, it's because the seventh circle of hell is actually the public education system. Two and three are high school dances and standardized testing. At least in my book.)

I stepped across the cement floor of the balcony and stood beside him, ignoring the chill that seeped through my socks. I waited for a second, leaning my folded arms on the balcony railing and looking silently out into the night, until I couldn't wait anymore and asked in a dramatic whisper, "What are we looking at?"

Sy shook with laughter. "We're looking at something called the sky, Spark. It's big, it's blue, and at night, it's full of stars." Ah, my ever-awesome fish boy.

"Those are _stars_?" I repeated, feigning shock. "I thought they were fireflies." I looked around and made a _tsk_ing noise. "_The Lion King_ lied to me."

"You are. . ." Sy shook his head, laughing again. "Oh, you're so weird."

"But that's why you love me," I replied, turning to him and beaming. He smiled back and for a second life didn't seem so confusing. Then, he held out his arm and I sidestepped closer so he could wrap his arms around me, in a kind of backwards hug. I leaned back against him and let out a small, contented breath. Now, I don't usually get all warm and huggy with people--mainly because I was afraid they'd find out about the wings--but I guess Sy was a special case. He already knew about the wings, and, well. . .I liked him.

Tell anyone and die.

"How'd you get up here?" I asked, the thought suddenly occurring to me.

"Broke into the room next door and hopped the balcony." I twisted my head around and looked up at him (not really in surprise, more in bemusement at his casual tone). One of his eyebrows quirked in return. "What, you think I flew up here? I'm a fish, Spark, not a bird. But my turn." He plucked the shoulder of my jacket. "Is this Con's jacket?"

"Huh?" I looked down at myself, then laughed. "Oh. Yeah, it is. You saw me take it, right?"

"Well, yeah, but. . .why?"

"Hey, I may hate his guts, but he's got good taste in clothes," I said sardonically. Sy chuckled and I smiled. "Okay, so I needed something to carry the hypermaladrine I was stealing. Plus, it pisses him off, so it's win-win."

He paused. "How does Con win in the situation?"

"He doesn't, because I wasn't including him."

"Ah."

I didn't mind the silence that ensued. Normally, I feel obligated to interrupt all quiet with some sort of noise, but this time, I didn't. Maybe because it was so late, or maybe because I didn't want the others to wake up and find us, or maybe. . .maybe I just felt comfortable enough that I didn't have to talk.

But, eventually. . .

"So. . .what's the. . .deal?" I asked uncertainly. I felt Sy's eyes on me but didn't look up, instead fussing with a small rip in the cuff of my sleeve. "I mean. . .what's going to happen now? Max's mom wants us to go to Australia. . ." Sy went still as I explained the whole CSM plan. ". . .but, uh, what about you?"

He took a second to respond. "Well," Sy said slowly, "there are some. . .things I need to take care of back with Itex before I can really run away for good."

"Things like what?" I said, aiming for casual but saying it too quick.

"Well, uh, I was kinda thinking about. . .maybe. . ." He hesitated, trying to find the right words. "I mean, Joey, Frankie and I got _you_ out okay, and if you're leaving the country anyway, we were thinking maybe we could. . ."

I slowly felt myself smile. "You want to free all the mutants."

"Well, the good ones, anyway," he replied offhandedly, in that way guys do when they're uncomfortable or embarrassed. "And the ones who can survive. The rest can go to hell."

I'm sure he included Ariel, Con, and all the other evil freaks in that _rest_. "How many are there? A lot?"

I felt him shrug. "They couldn't've hidden too many after the previous Director ordered the extermination, so. . ."

"The wha?" I interrupted in confusion.

"Extermination. About a year ago, the last Director of Itex ordered all branches to terminate their experiments," Sy explained. "But, obviously, some of the scientists didn't listen, and hid some hybrids to keep experimenting on."

"Hybrids like you. And Con and the anti-flock."

"Yeah. They tried to save cooperative experiments, but a few were just too good to kill." Sy's tone suddenly changed as he added, "It's the cooperative ones who can go to hell. If they think Itex is actually doing something right, they're screwed up. We're not going to bother."

I paused, waiting for the bitterness of his statement to die away. "Well, at least you'll save _some _kids. I'm sure you, Joey, and Frankie weren't the only ones who were 'too good to kill.' " I put air quotes around the last part and Sy scoffed. "But seriously, do you know how many there still are?"

"I really don't know. There's no way to tell who was successful in hiding their experiments. Chicago was good, they hardly terminated anybody, but I know California wasn't nearly as lucky, so it really just depends. . ."

"Okay, when I asked, I didn't think you'd actually go beyond 'I don't know,' " I admitted, cutting him off. Unlike other people, Sy didn't get mad at me for it; rather, he just let out a breath and hugged me tighter for a second.

"Anyway. You think that'd be okay?" he said.

"Um, _yeah!_ Why are you even asking?"

"Well, uh. . .it'd mean I couldn't, um, stay with you guys. I'll have to keep with Itex and pretend I'm on their side."

". . .Oh." I stopped, realizing what he was trying to say. If he carried out his free-the-mutants plan, he couldn't travel with us. And, of course, by _us_, I meant _me_. I doubted the others cared very much for him right now, what with the way he'd landed them in the Factory and stuff.

Speaking of. . ."How'd you get Max and the others to the Factory?"

"Huh? Oh. Well, uh. . ." Sy shifted uncomfortably. "Ariel was the one who came up with the plan."

I frowned at the mention of the fish girl's name. Definitely _not_ my favorite person in the world. In fact, if she were placed on my favorite person scale of one to ten--with one being the lowest--, then Ariel was, like, negative infinity. Oooh, I'd never hated anybody more. Just her _attitude_ and her _voice_ and her stupid _high_ _heels_ and her trying to _kill_ me. . .Whups. Sy was still talking. Better listen.

". . .and on the way back to the Factory, Con showed up. Usual fight, whatever, until he shot me, which made the flock go nuts. Then Blaze lit some smoke bombs filled with sleeping gas and knocked everybody out, which made it way easy to tie 'em up and bring 'em back to the Factory."

I'd heard what he said, but was stuck on three words. I twisted around to face Sy and he looked at me in semi-surprise. "He _shot_ you?"

"I had a vest," he said defensively. "It wasn't even my plan."

"Oh. Um, right." I could've guessed that--the bulletproof vest thing--but the way he'd said it just. . .just the _thought_ of him getting. . ._shot_. . .I shook my head. "Sorry. But. . .why'd you go and use some big elaborate plan?"

"They made me," Sy said, shrugging, like it didn't bother him much. "I said I could just lead them in, because I was thinking we'd just find you and bust out, but they wanted to actually capture them and bring them in themselves, so I had to go along with it."

After that, he fell quiet, leaning against the balcony railing again and looking out at the night sky. I inched close and nudged him with my elbow. "Well, Con and them _are_ screw-ups. Maybe they just wanted to get something right for once."

"Ha." Sy shook his head, smiling. "Maybe." He turned his head to look at me, and I was surprised by his expression. It was. . .sad, almost. Halfhearted. Like. . .

"You have to leave now, don't you?" I guessed.

The corner of Sy's mouth raised a bit in a more pronounced half-smile. "How is it you've known me for so short a time but know me so well?"

"Secretly?" I said with fake seriousness. I glanced around like I was suspicious of eavesdroppers and dropped my voice. "I'm a psychic."

"Oh really?" But he was smiling fully now, hand reaching up to take mine.

"Yes, really." I pretended not to notice him drawing nearer. "I know your every thought. And to be honest. . ." I paused, tilting my head to one side as if hearing a voice. ". . .you have quite a dirty mind."

He was closer now. Like, _really_ close. So close that he felt the need to lower his voice. "I do?"

"Yes." I knew what was coming. "Know why? Because you're a teenage boy. And all teenage boys have dirty mi--"

I never finished my sentence, because Sy put a hand under my chin, tilted my face up and kissed me.

Like I said, I'd been expecting it, so my mind didn't _completely_ short out. But it came close, especially when we closed our eyes and his hand went around to the small of my back and I found my own arms snaking around his neck and. . .

And, uh, nevermind. This isn't some weird romance novel. Sorry to disappoint you, but we've just got freaks here. No vampires. Or werewolves. Well, technically, I guess you _could _call Erasers werewolves, but let's not go there.

I don't know how much time passed, but all too soon, we had to stop. For a second, though, we just stood there. Lingering in each other's presence for just a little bit longer, until Sy reached up and detached my arms from around his neck. "I really have to go," he said softly.

"Why? Did you sneak out or something?" I joked, my voice just as quiet as his.

"Kinda." Sy hugged me tight one last time, then crossed the balcony. He hopped up on the left railing, looked back over his shoulder to smile reassuringly, and then leaped four feet over to the next room. He landed silently on his feet and turned back to face me.

I half-raised my hand and wiggled my fingers. "Bye," I said, so softly I doubt he heard me. But he could read my lips.

He returned the gesture. "Bye."

Then, with a last fleeting smile in my direction, he left.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and turned toward the railing, my hands rising to grip it as I sought to steady myself. Okay. Time to get my thoughts straight:

I--along with Max, Fang, Iggy, Nudge, the Gasman, Angel, and Total--was going to Australia. Mainly to escape the anti-flock, but also to preach about some saving-the-world environmental stuff.

The anti-flock was (hopefully) going to stay here, in America, searching and failing to find and/or recapture us.

Sy--along with Joey and Frankie--was going to stay here, in America, and go about freeing all the mutant hybrids that didn't want to be experiments anymore.

I felt like I'd been split in three. My friends and I were going to Australia. My old family, who'd been created to follow me anywhere, was going to stay here in the United States. And Sy, who I was kinda/sorta _involved _with, was also staying here in the States. Three parts of me--my present, my past, and my future, were all walking different paths. Or flying. Whatever.

It. . .didn't feel complete. I felt like there had to be more, like there had to be something else. Like. . .the story wasn't finished yet.

But there wasn't much I could do to change it now. I'd just have to deal with it, this feeling of incompleteness.

How long would I have to feel this way? Just how long would it be before my story came to an end?

To be honest. . .I had no idea.

* * *

Head pounding, body aching, and frustration boiling dangerously high, Con remained perfectly still, fists clenching at his sides. At his right, Avi let out a tiny sigh, and he could feel Blaze trembling with anger to his left. Swift and Shadow were sitting in the chairs, Shadow hunched over and sulking while Swift's back remained ramrod straight, eyes fixed on the floor.

"Unacceptable, Constantine."

Of course he called _him_ out to take all the blame. But Con said nothing.

Julian Newell sighed and rested his elbows on his desk, rubbing his temples. The scientist then pulled Swift's laptop closer to him, keying in some code in an attempt to lock on to Spark's chip. "You lost her. Again. No trace of her chip."

_No shit_. Con reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace by its string. Annoyed, he flung Spark's tracker chip onto the desk, saying, "She figured it out. Ditched it before she found the Cali group."

Newell let out a breath and grabbed the necklace. He studied it for a second or two, then pocketed it.

He looked up and stared Con in the eyes. "I'm getting fed up with your failures. I'm seriously leaning toward turning over Spark's case to somebody else. Somebody who's actually capable of eliminating Spark."

"We're capable," Con ground out, glaring at Newell so forcefully that the scientist had to look away. "We can get her back. The Cali group too."

"No, you can't!" Newell snapped. "You've had her I don't know _how_ many times, but every single time she's escaped! You five are no longer responsible for Spark's capture and elimination!"

"You can't do that!" Con yelled, his temper finally breaking. "You can't do that to us! _We_ are the ones who caught her signal, and _we_ are the ones who are going to recapture her! We've been on her since day one and. . ."

"_And you failed,_" Newell interrupted loudly. "You _failed_, Constantine, and that is unacceptable. It's obvious to me now that you're still in love Spark, otherwise you would have done your job _correctly_. In other words, she would be in our custody and under our control. So again I say: _you are no longer responsible for Spark's capture and elimination._"

It took all of Con's willpower (and Avi's warning hand on his arm) to keep from torturing Newell's mind. Before he could yell anything else, Blaze stepped forward, blurting, "Spark's wild, Jay, and you know that! Give us another chance, we can get her back!"

"No, Blaze. You _had_ your second chance, and you blew it," Newell replied irritably. The man's pale green eyes flicked from hybrid to hybrid, focusing on each of them for a moment. "I used to be proud of you. But your failures are making it harder to keep that pride."

Con's knuckles went white as his fingernails dug into his palms. _So he finally said it_, he thought furiously. _What everybody else is thinking. We're just not good enough anymore, are we?_

Before anybody could stop him, Con turned and stalked from the room, flinging open the door so forcefully it banged off the office wall and slammed shut.

Thankfully, no one was in the halls at this hour--all mutants were confined to their rooms from nine at night to nine in the morning, and the day-shift scientists never arrived before eight. It was about five a.m. now, but to Con it felt much earlier. Newell had called him and his flock to his office as soon as they'd regained consciousness, which meant he hadn't gotten any real rest. He was dead exhausted.

Con made it back to his room before the others could catch up, stalking inside and slamming the door behind him. Then he leaned back, closing his eyes, wishing that, just for once, he didn't have a job to do, an authority to please, or a runaway sister to beat himself up about.

_. . .I hate my life._

Con opened his eyes and looked around the room that'd been his since before he could remember. It was simply furnished--desk, bed, dresser. Bedside table, bookcase. Closet. The dark blue walls were papered with posters that suddenly held no meaning. The desk was littered with old files and knick-knacks that were no longer important to him. And over at the bedside table. . .

He pushed away from the door and flicked on the light before he crossed the room, heading for the bedside table. A picture frame lay face-down on its surface, a frame he himself had pushed over just two and a half weeks or so ago.

Con picked up the frame and stared at it, slowly lowering himself down onto the bed.

It was stupid that he'd kept it so long--this picture. It was of when they'd been young. . .when Spark had still been a part of their family.

She was in the photo with him, Blaze, and Swift. It'd been taken by one of the psychologists that used to visit, checking up on their mental statuses and how their brains functioned differently from normal children's.

A three-year-old Swift was at a computer in one corner of the room. Blaze, age five, was by a black practice dummy just behind him, arm and fist blurred mid-punch. Spark, four at the time, was at a small table in the center of the room, pen in hand and half-written paper in front of her. (If you squinted--or had a magnifying glass--you'd be able to see that the letters were Greek, not English.) Con--who, like Blaze, was five in the photo--was at the table with Spark, watching her write, his own pen and paper lying forgotten near his hand.

It was stupid. Nobody was even looking at the camera, because the psychologists had wanted the kids to look "natural." Yet he'd kept it all these years. Like. . .a reminder that Spark really had been with them, once upon a time.

But she was different now.

She wasn't the same little girl that'd saved his life when they'd met.

She wasn't the same little girl he'd fallen in love with.

Con gripped the picture frame tightly, so tightly his fingers went white. Then, in a burst of fury, he threw the frame to the floor as hard as he could.

The glass front shattered, and the wooden frame splintered. He didn't bother picking it up, or even kicking it under the bed and out of sight. He just put his elbows on his knees, pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, and tried not to think.

Didn't work too well.

He wondered absently if he should try and sleep.

Nah. Too much on his mind.

Maybe he could. . .

A timid knock came on his door, interrupting his thoughts. He ignored it.

It came again. Louder this time.

With an irritable sigh, Con called out, "What do you want?"

The door opened with barely a sound, but whoever it was didn't come in. Con didn't look up to see who it was.

"You okay?" Blaze finally asked.

He didn't answer her.

"Um. . .what are we going to do about Spark?"

Again, he said nothing.

Blaze seemed to get annoyed. "Look, you can't just sit there and take this. It's pathetic. What are we gonna do?"

"I. Don't. Know," Con said slowly, enunciating carefully to get his irritation across. "And frankly, I don't care anymore."

"That's not good enough!" Blaze snapped. He heard her footsteps as she crossed the room and stopped just in front of him. He imagined that her eyes were silvery with anger. "Look, Con, like it or not, _you're _the leader, so get over yourself and do your f*cking job. Forget about Jay. He has no idea how hard it is to keep Spark cooped up. Yeah, we kinda screwed up, but we can fix it. So what are we going to do to do that?"

"Nothing. You heard him, Blaze. She's not our problem anymore. We failed."

_"What the hell's the matter with you?!" _Blaze yelled. A sharp, painful blow slapped Con's head and he jerked out of position, finally looking up. Blaze's face was a mask of confused anger, sky-blue eyes nearly completely silver. "I don't know what kind of emo depression you've suddenly fallen into, but snap out of it already! The longer we stay here, the longer Spark has to get away and disappear! Screw what Jay said, we have to go after her!"

"What's the point?" he asked bitterly. Con's eyes dropped to the floor, where the eleven-year-old picture lay on the floor amid broken glass and splintered wood. "There's. . .she's never going to be one of us again."

"So you're just going to give up, let her escape, and let her get away with it?"

He looked up at Blaze again. She'd crossed her arms, still glaring down at him, refusing to give in to his sudden onslaught of melancholy carelessness.

"Well?" One of Blaze's eyebrows raised. "Are you going to let her get away with everything she's done to us?"

At first he was silent, trying to sort through his thoughts. But then, finally. . .

". . .No." Con looked down again, then bent to pick the picture out of the wreckage of its frame. He studied it for a moment or two, then ripped it in half. Letting the torn pieces fall back to the floor, Con stood up, all feelings of depression, anguish, and hopelessness fleeing his mind as anger and lust for revenge took their place.

"Tell the others to pack up. We're leaving in twenty minutes."

Blaze smirked, then playfully punched Con's shoulder. "You got it, Con."

She left his room, and Con closed his eyes, taking a breath. When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was the torn picture. It was weird, but. . .Spark had ended up in the one half while he, Blaze, and Swift were in the other.

She wasn't one of them. She hadn't been for ten long years.

Con's fist clenched.

He was going to make her pay for running away. For leaving them. For throwing them to the wolves of the science community. For forgetting about them. For living a perfect little life while he and the others went through hell. For _continuing _to live a perfect little life while he and the others went through hell.

He'd chase her to the ends of the earth if that's what it took, but he would make her pay.

* * *

silly me. i left all these unanswered questions and unresolved issues just hanging out there. which means this is _sooooo_ not the end--the rest shall be continued in the sequel, which i have yet to title (though it will begin with the word _when_).

anyway, i'm gonna take a tiny break to maybe get ahead on the new story, and possibly contemplate new ones for my other OCs--mainly sy's past (OC fish-kids under the age of 14 will be accepted), possibly joey and frankie's story (if you have an idea for their background, leave a message), and perhaps the past of spark when she lived with con, blaze, and swift (though i may have to speak with the creators of the anti-flock on this one).

help with those possible ideas would be appreciated.

but for now. . .well, since it's not over yet, we'll just say i'm putting my epically exciting tale on pause.

it's been fun. i'll see you next time.


End file.
